


The Inglorious Wonder Woman

by bulelo



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, BAMF Cho Chang, BAMF Harry Potter, BAMF Neville Longbottom, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/F, F/M, Family Drama, Family Feels, Fix-It of Sorts, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Harry Potter was Raised by Remus Lupin, Healthy Relationships, Horcruxes, M/M, Magical Dudley Dursley, Male-Female Friendship, Multi, Multipairing, Multiple Pairings, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Other, Parent-Child Relationship, Physical Disability, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Reincarnation, Sexuality Crisis, Time Travel, Well-Meaning Dumbledore, What-If
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-03-24 07:28:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13806396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bulelo/pseuds/bulelo
Summary: Sunny used to idolize superheroes, until she was reborn on the fringes of a magical world and became a part of its war. If she'd known sooner that people would die for her—because of her—she wouldn't have been so eager to live again. [half-mermaid!OC, Remus-adopts-Harry, wizard!Dudley, canon divergence, rating subject to change]





	1. start at the end, leave no details out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hello all! This story has gone through many revisions and will likely be my biggest word count ever (many, many chapters to come). There is just so much I want to explore and change from the HP universe; I felt compelled to make a protagonist that could guide and manipulate those shifts, as well as challenge certain stereotypes and characters.
> 
> Some more sensitive topics included in this story are physical disability, mental health, and cultural/religious/gender and sexual identity. I warn you now that there will be violence and trauma to come (I'll put up warnings when applicable), which might bump the story rating up.
> 
> This will not be a canon retelling, but I will be using the main cast and some major canon events. By second year, I expect things to be very divergent. Pairings will be written as I go along (likely slow burn!) and probably will take off during third or fourth year, when the puberty really hits (fun times). Romance will not be the biggest focus in the story, as I'd like to emphasize friendships and family above all, but love is a huge theme in my writing.
> 
> This first chapter is backstory-heavy to get a feel for our protagonist. There is a tense shift too from past to present, the latter of which will be primarily used for my storytelling. Let me know if you like/dislike anything, be an active reader! Reading comments make my day and help me become a better writer. Enjoy!
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing but Suha/Sunny, Murong, and concepts. The italicized excerpts midway are from Hans Christian Andersen's The Little Mermaid.
> 
> Notes: 'written speech' (towards end), thoughts (generally); in my head, a year on land is 2 years underwater (so Suha/Sunny is around 16 in water, 8 on land)
> 
> Edited: 06/01/18

 

"She was once the servant of the gods, sent to teach mankind to worship them... but she learned to be  _human_ , instead. She's the Defender of Truth and Life in the struggle between heaven and humanity, between the mortal and the mythological... and she's  _me_. I am Wonder Woman... and this is only the beginning."

—Diana of Themyscira (WW),  _New Earth_

* * *

 

**Larkana, Pakistan. Present day.**

Suha: the forgotten, overlooked star in the Ursa Major constellation. She shines at the tip of the bear's snout, guiding the traveler home even in the darkest of nights.

Such is the darling fame of this little ball of gas, but on Earth, nobody seemed to place the same faith in Suha the girl, even when she walked children home and kept hungry mouths fed around the clock.

In her big family, and every family around them, and every family around those families,  _girls didn't count_. It was a law conditioned into her spirit from a very young age, reinforced by role models and traced onto flesh like permanent mehndi.*

Suha's mother, submissive yet ambitious, was particularly ardent in advertising her husband and sons' military records, while her daughters sustained blisters and bruises from long nights in the sewing factory. Suha was ten when she first tried to mimic her brothers by working at a tire shop. A week later her youngest brother, barely a year older than herself, watched on in mild horror, mild superiority as she was beaten, the wood coming down with a  _thwack_.

This, she never forgot. This, she never forgave. The scars ran down her back and dug into her spine like a strangler fig, swollen and vindictive.

The shift began when all of the men in the family were killed in combat. Mother fell into a depression as soon as the family lost their house and biggest source of income in one fell swoop, forcing them to a dingy apartment with peeling walls and a single window overlooking a fumigation facility.

It was here that the youngest and final daughter, Fatima, was born. It was here, in those glittering charcoal eyes, that Suha found her redemption. The moonless curtain called night could only revel in the harmony of the pair, as they played peek-a-boo in the darkness and memorized each other's movements.

"I will save you," she told the baby, the bars of the crib shadowing her face. "I will save us."

When a tiny fist reached out between the spaces, she had her answer.

Thirteen and resolved, Suha traded in her hijab* and skirts for a paper boy hat and chest-binder. She entered the world anew, lean and independent, a hero complex manifesting. From there, becoming a common laborer was easy; becoming a professional gambler was easier.

Boys were tough, sure: lifting bags of flour in one palm, tripping her on the street, going off to war. But this girl was the toughest. She learned to be quick on her feet, body quilted by male clothes and card decks, tricks sewn into the seams of her sleeves. She dealt hands to the men at the bar more powerful than any slap to the face.

The coins at her hip were heavy as sin but sweet as virtue; the dreams she crushed made the best medicine. The indignant answered to her iron fist; the gambling business required this, and sometimes, her heart did too. The young girl she once was receded into the background as the bacha posh* became her reality.

Most days, she no longer recognized herself: hard-faced and powerful. A "boy" who could go anywhere, be anyone.

It was only with her baby sister that Suha could return to femininity. Next to Fatima the idleness of life—often only interrupted by blood and pain from a night at the round poker table—became a healing wonder. Hours spent digging through the trash to scrap together doll clothes; sewing bright patterns into their socks; and playing house while sipping tea like the British women in scrapped magazines.

On occasion, and by far the best activity, was when the girls picked up an old, poorly translated copy of a Marvel or DC comic at the newspaper stand. They would find a cool spot in the alleyways to flip through it, wide-eyed and appreciative of every kick and flip.

Their favorite superhero? The one and only Wonder Woman.

"I want to be her when I grow up." Fatima pointed to a panel of the goddess helping a civilian up from the rubble.

"Any reason?"

"She never gives up, even when people are terrible."

They closed up the book and fell into each other's sleepy embrace, legs intertwined and hearts beating in tandem. Secretly, Suha wished for a radioactive spider, a magical shield, or star-blessed might. Anything to be more than some poor, rundown girl playing make-believe in a city full of sand.

Anything to be a better person.

* * *

She saw the next move coming, like she always did.

The last guy Suha conned ran straight to his boss, yelling vicious slurs and curses. She made sure the apartment was empty for the dangerous company, bribing a teacher to give Fatima an extra hour of lessons and misplacing her other sisters' items for work.

"The men were quick with their business. They kicked the door, held her at gun point, and demanded the one thing she couldn't give—could never give. She almost spit in the one guy's face, but thought against it when she saw their numbers.

"You touch her, you die."

"You don't give her up, you  _all_  die."

Maybe the heavens thought she deserved it.

The gig of taking from others was getting old, and sooner or later, Suha would no longer be able to attend school or spend time with Fatima. One by one, her other siblings left the nest to start their own local lives. Her mother, quiet for many years now, was secretly mobilizing for her arranged marriage too.

A girl like Suha couldn't wear the pants forever, but she wanted to go out with a bang. Pass her will onto the next worthless girl. She made sure that her successor would never have to experience famine or abandonment, never had to trade in her gender or dignity for a few rupees.

Because the star-girl was a beacon; and beacons didn't burn out when travelers depended on them.

In the end, Suha pulled one last trick. After packing some bags and writing some letters, she sold her long black hair and one kidney, enough savings to propell baby sister to the land of the free, where their superheroes had been born.

Their final act of sisterhood, like the nerds they were, was spent at a neighbor's house pirating the new  _Wonder Woman_  and sipping from smuggled juice boxes. Fatima said nothing as her older sibling cried especially hard at the ending, squeezing her hand in comfort.

Soon, Suha would send Fatima so far across the sea that not even Allah could touch her. The sister could be anyone she wanted to be; she wouldn't have to steal from others to live. Just once, the daughters were going to be the most important. They would stand tall, head erect like Diana Prince, as they parted for different horizons.

Of course, Suha was still stabbed at the port of the Indus River, but at least the scumbag went down too.

* * *

The real surprise? Suha sitting here now, somewhere between purgatory and the next bus to hell, seeing her memories flash before her eyes.

She hadn't expected the afterlife to be this: a long poker table and two calm but vicious faces, illuminated by a single garish spotlight. They deal her a crappy set of cards and she discards a four of hearts on instinct, unable to clearly see their expressions.

"Allah?" Suha asks.

"If it comforts you," Player One replies. No, it does not. He throws a flush down immediately, fanning himself with the rest of his hand.

"Am I dead?"

"Aren't we all?" Player Two giggles. "You're just lucky to know you are, is all."

She does not think herself lucky at all, but a gambler never reveals how easily she can unravel with just the right amount of provocation. Three tens and a pair of fives rain upon the card pile; she plays their little game effortlessly.

"Let's have a looksie here." Player One gives four mighty Jacks and steals the round, starting it up again with a spade Queen, who is the spitting image of Suha: all cropped hair, bruises, and bitterness.

She flushes at the invasion of privacy; they pry into her life like they own it.

"You take the family throne—"

"—you throw them all a bone."

"Steal the homes of others—"

"—for they are not your brothers."

"Yet brothers, came they did—"

"—for your sister, she you hid."

"But the Queen, knew she not—"

"—they wanted, just you, to rot!"

The men finish their rhymes in succession, skipping her turn completely and tossing all their hands into the fray, each image exposing a part of her meaningless life to the darkness. Suha feels more than hears the laughter, a painful reminder of the humility she endured for all her efforts to have gone to waste.

Fatima came out alive. That's all that ever mattered, she tells herself, to keep from losing her mind.

"So what?" The girl demands, tears refusing to fall from her eyes. "You lock me up? Send me to hell? I was already there. I did my best. You can't tell me otherwise."

"That, we can't! You had a good run." The first twin guffaws, shuffling the deck between sooty palms, cigarette discarded in the ashtray. "Bonus points for killing the unlucky bastard who came at you with a knife. Such a sore loser!"

"I didn't like him very much," the other brother comments. "Wanted for every count of kidnapping and assault in the book. High-crime, he was. You got him before they snagged your sister. Could've trafficked her."

"Since you did us a favor for bringing him with you, we'll let you pull the trigger."

"A good girl like you knows exactly what to do."

They stand up from the table then, and with a snap of their fingers, procure the criminal. He yells through a gag, arms bound to his burly sides with golden rope. Everything poker disappears, and suddenly, Suha finds a fully-loaded pistol in her left hand, aimed point-blank at her killer.

She suddenly remembers the way he drove the steel into her chest and how she broke his neck against a stack of crates in retaliation, the rest of the men yelling in the background.

"Think of what he did to you! To your family!"

"Yes, all the pain and terror!"

"You would've left that city too!"

"You could've gone with your sister!"

Judge and prisoner exchange eye contact with one another, and she can't seem to breathe through her nose and her throat itches and her mind is on fire and  _she's really dead and she'll never see Fatima again and nothing's_ —

Suha shoots Player One in the stomach and Player Two in the collarbone without blinking. The gun steams as the man, the face of evil who killed her, melts away to reveal a blinding smile.

"Allah?" she asks again.

"Judgment has been passed,"  _it_  replies, less like the compassionate god of scriptures and more of an unforgiving force. "Good girl."

"My sister is the good girl," Suha counters, dropping the gun and shutting her eyes. The nightmare closes in on itself. "I made sure I was the bad apple, to show her the wrong way home. What a life without mercy will do to the soul."

"Then I will show you what a life with mercy can do  _for_  you."

* * *

_Far out in the ocean, where the water is as blue as the prettiest cornflower, and as clear as crystal, it is very, very deep; so deep, indeed, that no cable could fathom it: many church steeples, piled one upon another, would not reach from the ground beneath to the surface of the water above. There dwell the Sea King and his subjects…_

* * *

**Somewhere in the South China Sea. December 13th, 1980.**

The next time Suha opens her eyes, a woman with hair the color of rich soil and a smile filled with loving wishes coos down at her.

Mother. This person must be a mother. She knows this, even having only experienced an unsupportive, withdrawn one.

The world is blurry and dream-like, bedazzled in nothing but blues, greens, and pinks. Mobility is impossible when everything is submerged and slow. Her fingers are small and webbed and useless, as if freshly molded from clay.

She learns later that deep-sea mud is more accurate; she's a  _mud_  baby. Never thought she'd have to use those two words in the same sentence before.

Never thought she'd be reborn either.

* * *

_Nothing gave her so much pleasure as to hear about the world above the sea. She made her old grandmother tell her all she knew of the ships and of the towns, the people and the animals. To her it seemed most wonderful and beautiful to hear that the flowers of the land should have fragrance, and not those below the sea; that the trees of the forest should be green; and that the fishes among the trees could sing so sweetly, that it was quite a pleasure to hear them. Her grandmother called the little birds fishes, or she would not have understood her; for she had never seen birds._

" _When you have reached your fifteenth year," said the grandmother, "you will have permission to rise up out of the sea, to sit on the rocks in the moonlight, while the great ships are sailing by; and then you will see both forests and towns…"_

* * *

**1985.**

Mother becomes "Murong" soon, and  _she_  becomes "Sungjin", fondly addressed as "Sunny." It's an ironic change, going from a star in a constellation to being the center of the universe.

It takes her about five years of learning to swim, eating kelp, and shitting like a goldfish to figure out that she is actually inhaling water without drowning— _oh no_ _this isn't a dream_ —and another decade to process that merpeople are nothing like the fairy tales— _why am I not waking up?_

One: no one is even remotely like "Ariel" here.

They don't have talking guppies and crab servants or look for adventure in abandoned ships. The creatures of the deep have translucent complexions, shark teeth, long nails, magnified pupils spanning across the whites of their eyes. Some are more refined than others; sirens are probably the most attractive of the lot and speak a sing-song form of Mermish, so different yet familiar to Punjabi and English.

Sunny hasn't gotten a hold of a mirror yet. Frankly, she's not sure she wants one anymore.

Two: merpeople are systematic and label their communities based on bones, mapping out the ocean like one great anatomical chart.

Skull, spine, rib—every group accounts for something or another, like how hers represents the Eastern tailbone. Their architecture consists of intricate salt formations cradled among the empty bellies of whales and barnacle husks, tall buildings bridged together and based in cross-like formation.

Sunny has so far managed to play off her discomfort of dead animals as childhood shyness, but parenting works differently in this world. Merpeople would sooner throw their offspring into a volcano than let them get away with being soft-hearted. Her own mother has thrown her over the coral bed for complaining of fatigue. She had adapt to the currents and swim upward through the algae bed, lest she die in the sharp reefs below. When she finally returned home, Murong greeted her achievement with advanced Mermish lessons.

Thanks for the support, mother. Sunny almost  _wants_  to be treated like a child, if only to catch a break.

Three: sirens have adapted East Asian practices (or did the Asians learn from them, hm).

This fascinated Sunny the most, having lived in Pakistan for her entire life, with the occasional exposure to American media. They run on the Lunar Calendar, red lanterns made from bioluminescent-algae, squid ink wash paintings, the Analects of Confucius.

Sunny spends a great deal of time home-schooled on these ancient arts and texts, as there is no formal educational facility in their sea. Most merpeople are interested in military pursuits, not libraries. Both tridents and polearms were in use, sometimes chakrams and war scythes with handles plated with fish bone, and warrior training often involved servitude in temples like Buddhist monks.

To what god they prayed to, the Pakistani could not configure. Not that she believed in hers anymore, anyway.

The rest of their time is dedicated to the upkeep of appearance, an activity that has effectively rendered Sunny spiteful.

Her past self had an identity crisis with clothing, having lived her childhood a girl and her adolescence like a man. It is no different for her current self, who decides against hair accessories or seashell clasps. They squeeze and scrape at her already small breasts the way the bras and binders did to her old body.

No matter the culture, breasts always had to follow some kind of rule. Murong, unlike mother #1 though, lets Sunny be and actually encourages the tomboyish behavior. She swims through the water bare as the day she was born too.

Four: sometimes, trinkets from the surface world wound up at the bottom of the sea.

Plastic containers, dolls, music boxes, coins, bits and pieces of ship. These were the few times Sunny did feel like the little mermaid, running webbed fingers along things she once knew as a land-dweller. Murong neither approved nor disapproved of her collection, but once in a while, she threw in a warning.

"The more you touch things from the surface, the more you will be targeted. They reek of human."

Five: merpeople aren't fond of humans, particularly wizards (whatever the hell those are). Long ago, there had been a pact between the two races before the magic-users disrespected their underwater partners, effectively erasing their history and causing the species to isolate themselves.

Naturally, they aren't too keen on Sunny either. She neglects to mention often, as if blotting it from her mind, but her  _lack_  of tail has proven to be the biggest phenomenon of them all.

There were gills, fins, and scales all across her body, but what mainly distinguished a mermaid from a human being was absent. She stares at the two scrawny, pale legs glaring up at her with a vengeance. She moves more sluggish than the rest, can rarely steady herself against updrifts, and feels many,  _many_ eyes on her the moment she and Murong appear in town.

It doesn't take long for this new world to pick on her the way the last one did; it doesn't take long for her to understand what happens to those who dream of the sun.

"P-please! I was only trying to help!"

At the epicenter of the city, a public execution takes place: a faceless merman interacted with a fisherman near the coast. For once, Murong puts a hand over her daughter's face, shielding her from the carnage.

Not long after that event, as if feeling a heightened protectiveness, the siren moves their two-people family away from civilization and closer to the riptides, where nothing and no one would venture close enough to bother them. If they did, Murong was two steps ahead and released their flesh-eating seahorses.

The nasty gardener got what was coming to him, the twat. They celebrate that victory with a couple of abalone. It is over this meal that Sunny acutely feels her mutation, her intrusion into this world. For what had she been reborn, if only to be strange and displaced again?

"I am incomplete."

 _Plunk_. Sunny lets the shell in her hand slip and hit the ground. A few moments bubble by before Murong scoops it up and wraps the end of her tail around her daughter's calves. She gives the girl a moment to breathe before waving a hand over her left cheek. In seconds, the skin begins to cave in, revealing an old burn carved all the way to the cheekbone.

Lastly: mermaids can use magic.

They also cry pearls, ones of which float in soft spirals down Sunny's face as she stares, heartbroken, at her mother's dispelled glamour.

"We are all incomplete. Do not pity yourself, little one. You just need to learn how to work around it."

That only makes Sunny cry harder, and for once, Murong lets her as she swims right into the arms of her newly-found unconditional love.

"I don't deserve you," the daughter whispers.

"Wrong: you deserve the best," the mother replies, pressing a cheek to the top of a small head. "Therefore, it is my mission to be the best."

The next hour is spent bullying a stranded mola mola* around town, enjoying each other's company. Momentarily, Sunny forgets her impediment and fears no future.

* * *

**July 31st, 1986.**

Under a staircase somewhere, a motherless green-eyed boy celebrates his eighth birthday alone, wishing to rise above the murk and breathe fresh air again.

Sunny gasps for him, waking frightfully from the dream. It takes too long for her to stop trembling, legs subconsciously convulsing in terror.

Who is he? Why did she want to reach for him? It's almost like she knew him— _was_  him, living his nightmare, cradling a broken arm—and it confuses her. These thoughts are not hers, a mad voice. Madness festering from solitude. The darkness her old self had almost been engulfed in, had Fatima not been with her.

She unleashes a scream, feeling a phantom knife wound in her back.

There is no Fatima to heal this, but Murong. The siren is right there by her daughter's side to talk in comforting circles and make the bad dreams go away. These days, she's been kinder—like a storm is fast approaching and they are each other's only anchors.

Sunny welcomes a dreamless sleep, for both her and the lonely boy.

* * *

_The little mermaid swam close to the cabin windows; and now and then, as the waves lifted her up, she could look in through clear glass window-panes, and see a number of well-dressed people within them. Among them was a young prince, the most beautiful of all, with large black eyes; he was sixteen years of age, and his birthday was being kept with much rejoicing. The sailors were dancing on deck, but when the prince came out of the cabin, more than a hundred rockets rose in the air, making it as bright as day. The little mermaid was so startled that she dived underwater; and when she again stretched out her head, it appeared as if all the stars of heaven were falling around her, she had never seen such fireworks before. Great suns spurted fire about, splendid fireflies flew into the blue air, and everything was reflected in the clear, calm sea beneath. The ship itself was so brightly illuminated that all the people, and even the smallest rope, could be distinctly and plainly seen. And how handsome the young prince looked, as he pressed the hands of all present and smiled at them, while the music resounded through the clear night air…_

* * *

**1987.**

The fatal flaw in this merfamily is something that  _did_  happen in the Disney-esque fairytale: curiosity, for the surface Suha once dismissed. Sunny wonders what year it is now, what people have accomplished, what her place without humanity is; how much has the human condition changed in her absence?

The brimming intrigue induces a melancholy in her chest that she fails to shake, even when she learns more and more about this blue world. When she learns about her origins.

Murong speaks little of her  _human_  lover—and wasn't that a wild thing to claim?—but when she does, Sunny feels like she too lost a best friend. Having gills and scales never bothered Sunny so much as knowing everything yet next to nothing about the woman who might've participated in her rebirth.

It hurt all the more seeing the absence eat away at her mother's crimson tail and smiles as the years went on. Sometimes, she would swim about aimlessly at night, a strange, searching sleepwalk that had Sunny watching sadly from around the corner. They need this family talk, whether Murong wants to avoid it for the rest of their lives or not.

"What is her name?" the girl starts.

"Pandora," the siren automatically replies and cringes at the ease with which she reveals the identity.

"So she was a witch?"

"That's right."

"They can do magic like us?"

"Mhm."

"Don't merpeople avoid humans?"

"Foolish rule to begin with, we aren't at war anymore."

"So this princess you liked fell out of her research boat—"

"No she—"

"You save her and get unofficially married?" Sunny pokes at her skin, as if her arm will pop off at any moment and reveal the ugly truth; that she's nothing more than a figment of imagination. "Then you animated me from mud? With magic?"

The siren scoops up her little ray of sunshine and handles her with care; that is to say, puts her in an impressive headlock. Foiled again!

"What did I tell you about speaking  _English_?" she hisses. "You even made  _me_ use it! What if someone hears us?"

Negative: no one ever visits them.

"St-studies show that extensive use of M-Mermish leads to brain damage—"

"There goes that imagination of yours again, speaking between your fins!"

The little mermaid blows out bubbles from her nose. "Oh, I give! I give! I just wanted to talk about my other mother. I don't resemble anyone like I do her."

A silence descends upon the pair faster than the humans pillage the tuna. Murong looks thoughtfully at Sunny, searching for a reason not to cave and confess.

The mergirl, for all her bickering, wants to know things about her other mother, to make the witch more of a person in her mind than a distant, fading memory. She wants to know her favorite color. What she liked and didn't like to eat. Favorite animal, holiday. The painful times.

Murong could see this longing as clear as day; no point avoiding it now. Finally, in the pink light of their jellyfish lamps, she holds her daughter at arms' length and sighs.

"You must've gotten the rebel streak from her, too. She could never go a day without cooking up some new idea about this or that."

"I like what I'm hearing. What did she do for a living?"

"She invented spells. I gave her my sheddings for a fireworks one; they burst into something called 'ladybugs' in the sky."

That has to be the coolest thing Sunny has ever heard; mermaid scales could make fireworks? What else could they be used for?

"When she left me, she'd achieved her greatest feat yet: you."

"Will I ever meet her?"

"Oh, Sunny. Do not make me miss someone I cannot have." The words collapse in Sunny's ears like fissures imploding on themselves, ready to erupt into a new day. "She chose her people and I chose ours. I chose  _you_. I will not regret that."

"But you already do! I look like her, I talk like her. You even said I  _think_  like her." Sunny shakes her mother desperately, reverting back to the miserable human language with which she started this conversation. "You don't smile the way you used to. I will surely be your unhappiness."

"Sungjin," Murong murmurs, tucking a stray strand of hair behind a small ear. She never, ever uses the full name; it always means trouble. "We may have parted, but Pandora and I made you out of love. To this day, you remind me of what life must be lived for."

And like every dignified mother, heavy-hearted but light-tailed, she ends the conversation with a kiss, returning to her anemone wall arrangement.

In a fit, Sungjin does what she always has: escape. Without fully understanding the situation, she darts out on her mother, who calls to her over and over again to remedy the confusion.

Outside, on the edge of the purple reef, where the ocean beyond is nothing but ink and unknown, something sad and terrifying brews inside an immortal mind. She watches as one by one, her tears become pearls that drop like pins into the abyss, and how from the darkness, an impulse is born.

* * *

" _But I must be paid also," said the witch, "and it is not a trifle that I ask. You have the sweetest voice of any who dwell here in the depths of the sea, and you believe that you will be able to charm the prince with it also, but this voice you must give to me; the best thing you possess will I have for the price of my draught. My own blood must be mixed with it, that it may be as sharp as a two-edged sword."_

" _But if you take away my voice," said the little mermaid, "what is left for me?"_

" _Your beautiful form, your graceful walk, and your expressive eyes; surely with these you can enchain a man's heart. Well, have you lost your courage? Put out your little tongue that I may cut it off as my payment; then you shall have the powerful draught."_

" _It shall be," said the little mermaid._

* * *

Finding a sea witch proves to be much easier than people let on. It has nothing to do with following two eels into the lair of a lipstick-wearing octopus, and everything to do with just looking for the outlier in a kingdom full of irreplaceable beauty: the moorish area behind the abandoned human pipes.

The sea witch is a slight mermaid, whittled to the color of sunken ships and decomposed whales, with deep-set eyes and weary swim. She peers forebodingly into her cauldron, never once looking up at her young visitor, who swims stiffly into her hollow home. Her collarbone is held so tightly in her pallid skin that it looks about ready to burst forth with a life of its own.

The most curious thing about her is the moving—truly,  _moving_ —image hung upon her breast by a silver wire. A woman that highly resembles the witch is laughing uncontrollably into the shoulder of a well-groomed man, enchanted to repeat the movement over and over again.

For a moment, Sunny wonders of her circumstances, who she was before this, but the witch seems to sense these thoughts and disperses them immediately, as if psychic.

"Mirabella, I presume?"

"Hmph. I know what you want, kelpling," she rasps. Sunny has never heard such a voice before. The Mermish grates on the ears, like the creature inhaled nails and was forced to breathe between the remaining spaces.

"How are you doing that?" The girl gives her hand a little whirl overhead. "Knowing what I want to say before I say it."

"Legilimency. Not that you would know anything about wizard magic. Does your mother know you are here?"

"No," Sunny says, never missing a beat. "I came alone, and I intend to fulfill this alone."

"So you think that suffering ennobles you?" laughs the witch. She circles Sunny, wrinkled fingers sliding across the little mermaid's flesh and leaving rose-tinged marks in their wake. She shivers uncontrollably at the decaying smile. "Did that work for you last time?"

Sunny narrows her eyes. "You looked into my memories?"

The cackle crackles like lightning. "I know everything about you, little star. You are far away from home."

"Murong  _is_ my home. Not Pakistan."

"Bold, bold statement. Have you forgotten that baby sister of yours already?"

She ignores the question, her heart distantly aching at the thought; there is business to conduct.

"Why did you become... this?"

The sea witch falls silent, claws wrapped around the edges of her cauldron.

"I chose wrong, simple as that," Mirabella finally says. "To our kind, love is once, but for the humans, love is every empty bed that can be filled. You still wish to proceed, knowing that the human might have moved on?"

"She may have, but my mother never will. Name your price."

"Well, I simply adore speechless sirens..."

* * *

_"We have given our hair to the witch," said her sisters, "to obtain help for you, that you may not die to-night. She has given us a knife: here it is, see it is very sharp. Before the sun rises you must plunge it into the heart of the prince; when the warm blood falls upon your feet they will grow together again, and form into a fish's tail, and you will be once more a mermaid, and return to us to live out your three hundred years before you die and change into the salt sea foam. Haste, then; he or you must die before sunrise. Our old grandmother moans so for you, that her white hair is falling off from sorrow, as ours fell under the witch's scissors. Kill the prince and come back; hasten: do you not see the first red streaks in the sky? In a few minutes the sun will rise, and you must die." And then they sighed deeply and mournfully, and sank down beneath the waves._

* * *

" _Don't let her escape!_ "

The guards come to take her away at the drop of an urchin's pin. Someone must've seen her going to and from Mirabella's cavern and reported it.

Murong is long gone; Sunny slipped a drought of deepest sleep into her food. From the concoction, the siren grew fine, supple legs that surely carried her into a better life, lifted to the surface world to reunite with her long lost lover. There were no farewells, no regrets. The deed was done.

Sunny floats before the mercourt now, as her trial becomes a rush of sounds and curses. She has never seen the royal family before, and she isn't sure she wants to, now that all angry eyes are on her.

"What have you done, turning to the sea witch?"

"Murong sacrificed everything for you!"

"Traitor!"

"You are only here by the good grace of your mother."

"Infidel!"

 _I saved her_ , Sunny thinks to herself, as if in reply to the condescension. But her tongue is barely a tongue anymore, silenced once and for all as the sacrifice. She faces straight ahead, locking her gaze with the King's cold one.

_I saved the mother I always needed._

But what about the child left behind?

The answer is given when the King coldly looks upon her and hits his trident against the ground. Exile, blood, a social death. The insolent human-esque mermaid has taken one of theirs; no one but the merpeople themselves are allowed to do so, especially not a half-breed creation.

* * *

_The little mermaid lifted her glorified eyes towards the sun, and felt them, for the first time, filling with tears. On the ship, in which she had left the prince, there were life and noise; she saw him and his beautiful bride searching for her; sorrowfully they gazed at the pearly foam, as if they knew she had thrown herself into the waves. Unseen she kissed the forehead of her bride, and fanned the prince, and then mounted with the other children of the air to a rosy cloud that floated through the aether._

* * *

**Camber Sands, East Sussex. September 2rd, 1988.**

Autumn, much like the act of praying, begins with abandonment and discovery.

A low, ominous breathing escapes the notice of midnight beach-goers, drawing closer and closer to the distinct smell of an open wound, dark wings pressed into equally black ribs. The shadow is misplaced, far from home and too massive to fit the landscape, like a manmade rift in the shore.

Except it really isn't much bigger than a chair, bumbling forward without animosity; rather, it senses loss lingering in the air, missing a time that both passed and barely began. The infant beast sinks across the sand one timid hoof at a time, the sensation alien but not unwelcome. It only ceases its course when its gray, opaque eyes find the source of unspoken pain.

In a bed of putrid kelp, a child lays on her side, hands gripped around a slowly but surely bleeding gut. She looks to be about seven or eight, all pale skin and sand. What appear to be gills line her neck on both sides but retract as soon as the fin-like appendages across her limbs pop off like bubbles.

The breeze does her no favors, drying out an otherwise smooth complexion. She fades in and out of consciousness, only mildly aware that three people have walked past her without batting a lash; a dog stays a moment longer to lick her exposed neck.

The owner sticks a bandaid on her bloody cheek in consolidation, like a good arm's-length samaritan. "You take care now," he nervously says. "Not v-very good with blood, I'm afraid. The police will be here shortly."

Bedazzled in sweat and cracked skin, the girl peers up slowly at her newest company, the awkward creature of midnight. Oddly enough, they share the same eye color, so she shyly smiles at the angel of death.

The beast tilts its head, observing the strange child. "He" had never seen one before, and they watched each other quietly, equally fascinated.

Finally, the "human" opens her mouth to speak but no words leave her tongue—or what's left of it—drawing sudden, scattered tears. Yet, one way or another, the creature needs nothing else to know what she sacrificed.

Suddenly, the bat-horse hangs his head, knees tucked in to lie by her side, beak laid across her chest. Sand pools into the wounded gut, but the girl no longer feels the pain, only the vaguely warm ribs against her forearm. She reaches out and pats the animal in time to her own heartbeat.

In this moment, they want nothing but each other, hearing not even the heavy footsteps or rustling robes approaching them.

Kingsley Shacklebolt has seen a great many things, but this? They didn't tell him about  _this._  The tawny owl, perched on his great right shoulder, makes an unhappy hoot.

"Bentley, you better get going. We're going to need Scamander at once."

* * *

"Up! Get up! Now!"

"Where's my paper, boy?"

"Give me that!"

If the child has to choose what body part to sacrifice, in any given near-death situation, or even a "would you rather" scenario, it would be the ears. Sometimes, his cousin helps when they read bedtime stories together, but those times are few and far between; auntie would never let them stay in that safe bubble for long.

So much noise... endless... drowning in it...

* * *

**St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, London. 1989.**

Newton Scamander has a remarkable affinity with all living things, those of whom include the healers, initially reluctant to engage with a magical creature classified as XXXX; and the so-called "dangerous" patient herself, who has been fairly calm given the circumstances, like washing up oceans away from home is a common trifle, anticipated even.

Her greatest contention: how does mud  _bleed_? She chooses not to disclose this information, lest she cause greater alarm.

Abdominal trident stabs, massive temperature drop, a shark tooth lodged in the left breast. The little mermaid arrived to St. Mungo's Hospital in critical condition, eyes dilating and lungs on the verge of caving, with an orphan Thestral at her heels. He proved an irritation when the surgery began; the medi-witches were at a loss in navigating around the bed without an invisible roadblock nipping at any sudden movement. Only four of the healers, having witnessed death before, efficiently dodged the splinter-like bites.

Post-surgery, and the dark foal still hadn't budged, nearly breaking Kingsley's wand when he tried to separate the pair. Had the old Scamander not dealt with the creatures for years and intervened, the black wizard would've surely lost his good hand to the slight but sharp beak.

Once stabilized and awake, the girl was greeted by her new friend and the Magizoologist, whose silly, dimpled smile was so contagious, she couldn't help but reciprocate.

There was still a great deal of confusion riddled across her brow, but the man took the overall reaction as a good sign, proceeding to introduce himself and her Auror savior; the siren seemed to understand English well enough, saving him the trouble of dunking his head in a tank and using rusty Mermish. Secretly, he wondered how much she knew of the human world, and from whom her education originated.

"What is your name, little mermaid?"

The sun disappeared behind the clouds, her face alight with some unspeakable sorrow; she literally failed to produce spoken language and bridge the space between her pain and his understanding of it, mouth opening and closing in humility. Even when she was given pen and paper, the writing was so illegible that tears sprung from her eyes and clattered to the ground in a rain of pearls, startling even iron Kingsley.

But when she forewent penmanship and instead doodled a simple sun, the celestial symbol for her name in all its circular glory like a child's first art project, they finally broke some ground.

"Soleil? Sun?" Newt chuckled at the furious headshaking. "Ah, perhaps Sunny? How fitting."

The next few months were spent learning how to read and write and walk on land. The moment the girl had the hang of her feet was the day all medical professionals rued, for there was nothing to stop her from running through the corridors, escaping her daily examinations like a whirlwind. It was almost as if she preferred the feel of the breeze in her hair to underwater activity, but clearly, when she refused to leave the bathtub so often, that possibility seemed unlikely and merely a side effect of freedom.

The final piece of her healing process was adjusting to air.

On occasion, during a series of rather sudden spurts of magic—the accidental type no one could explain her procuring as a "creature", indicating possible traces of wizardry—Sunny would choke on seemingly nothing, gills resurfacing along her neck without water and fins breaking out of her skin unprompted. When this happened, methods from injections to bed-confinement failed to put a dent in the situation, as the mermaid fled the scene as fast as a spooked Pixie and hid in the courtyard fountain, violently trembling from the pain and leaving broken pottery and claw-like wall markings in her wake.

That was, until Newt found her each time and simply held her hand, standing his ground and waiting out the panic attacks with words of encouragement.

"Shh, you are safe. This will pass. Good girl, breathe like that. Yes, that's right, you're doing so well."

Thus conditioned, Sunny comes into the habit of seeking out human touch, whether his or a passing healer's or even that of Kingsley. Oddly enough, the black Auror sometimes takes the small hand without any goading, amused by the sprite following him around the complex.

Soon, by the beginning of February, she is a regular sight for sore eyes in St. Mungo's, particularly to one demented patient. Sporting a withering round face and short gray hair, Alice Longbottom contributes to many secret smiles and hand-holding moments.

Their accidental meeting occurred during hide-and-seek with Nebula, one fine December morning. Sunny could not, for the life of her, find the Thestral, whose complexion was now dark enough to blend into shadows. When the girl took a step in the wrong direction and nearly collided with a brick wall, Alice was taking her daily dose of sunshine and stopped the accident just in time.

Something about the way they looked at each other, as if seeing themselves for the first time, inspired an attachment; a mother remembering a child, a child remembering a mother. So they hold hands every change they get, temporarily filling in the spaces between their hearts. It becomes a point of empathy for Newt.

"I think it's time we find her a family," he observes over his cup of earl gray. "She is still young and impressionable, and these walls do none of us favors."

"Yes, I have been working around the adoption laws. Why they are so vague and difficult, I can think of few reasons other than old pureblood opposition."

"Isn't it always them?" Newt raises a fine white brow. "Has anyone  _normal_  shown interest in meeting our siren friend?"

"My colleague recently requested a visit for tomorrow," Kingsley says. "Fate dealt her a divorce in the past two years, but she is ready to allocate that grief elsewhere. She has a daughter around the same age as Sunny."

"Excellent. I see you're finally making yourself useful."

"And you should've never come out of retirement," is the comeback, before a book on aquatic life comes into contact with his face.

Now, what to do about their little mermaid...

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *mehndi: ancient India art form of temporarily staining/tattooing the body with henna dyes
> 
> *hijab: veil or headscarf commonly worn by Muslim for cultural, religious, and/or personal reasons.
> 
> *bacha posh: Afghan/Pakistani term for a girl who is dressed up, and disguised as, a boy. These children are part of a hidden practice in which parents disguise daughters as sons for reputation and labor usage
> 
> *mola mola: the ocean sunfish, heaviest known bony fish in the world; "the most worthless, helpless creature on the planet"
> 
> Questions: What do you like/think about merpeople? How do you feel/not feel about characters like Newt Scamander, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Alice Longbottom?


	2. the moon has no shadow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hi, I'm back from the college life for a while. Thank you so much for any feedback and support! Please enjoy this lengthier, fluffier chapter. I really enjoyed writing it. Shoot me a comment if references/mentions fly over your head, I certainly lost track of how many I added for fun!
> 
> Key: thoughts/voices, 'written speech'
> 
> Edit: 06/03/18

"There isn't much justice in this world. Perhaps that's why it is so satisfying to occasionally make some."

—J'onn J'onzz (Martian Manhunter),  _Justice League Task Force_

* * *

Madam Guo Hua Zhāng, better known as "Lisa Chang", is a woman well into her thirties. After educations from Mahoutokoro and Beauxbatons, the witch climbed up the socioeconomic ladder and landed a well-paid job as a secretary and then chief-of-staff in the Ministry's International Magical Trading Standards Body.

As a part of her life policy, she promised to "look good, do good" in whatever she did, which explained the model-like impression most people got from her. That, and how like a vampire, she never seemed to age.

Asian don't raisin, after all.

Lisa met her husband of a decade, Wesley Lin, when he came to appeal for pill-packaging in his Diagon Alley Apothecary. The shorter man brought in a withered briefcase brimming with files and arguments, and she hadn't laughed so hard at someone before. Instead of offense, he joined right along and asked her out to tea.

From their continuous encounters, they started a family together and moved to Motherwell, Scotland. However, when her husband's company eventually filed for bankruptcy, due to sanitation inquiries, the relationship soon fell apart and left her a single mother.

At present, she passes through the entrance of St. Mungo's with her nine year-old daughter trailing behind, absolutely mystified by the entryway from the decrepit, abandoned department store into the spick-and-span hospital.

Little Qiū Zhāng, or "Cho", looks every bit like her mother, all dark hair and large, creased brown eyes full of excitement for the day to come. Under a slim arm, she carries the latest paper on Quidditch victories and a pack of Fudge Flies.

Immediately upon their arrival, Kingsley shakes hands and reigns in the introductions.

"I take it the trip wasn't too long?" He motions to the lounge seats and biscuits. "It's been forever since I last saw you out in the world."

"That wouldn't be the case if someone hadn't become an Auror and left us office people to become a hero," she asserts, sunglasses pulled back with her hair to reveal smoky eyes. They glitter in the natural lighting and crinkle at the corners. "I tease, you're doing the good work King. Thank you for all of your contributions."

"And this must be Cho-Cho!" The man leans down to ruffle her hair. "You are all your mother talks about."

"She never mentioned you," Cho replies innocently, earning herself a smack in the head and Kingsley's good-natured laugh.

The trio gathers in a waiting room just before the dormitories, and soon enough, Newt joins the pair with a special someone in hand, all polished up in a sea-green blouse and tan shorts.

"Nice to meet you, Madam Chang. Our resident Auror has detailed your many trade exploits. Tell me, is there still a ban on Primrose's Wand Polish?"

"You've done your homework! Yes, they recalled over a thousand bottles contaminated with Demiguise* droppings, sir. I would say the business is positively  _constipated_."

"Call me Newt." He sneaks a grin. "Why Kingsley, you never mentioned her delightful sense of humor! Where have you been all my life?"

"Careful, old-timer. If Porpentina ever catches you—"

It is then that the Chinese woman notices the girl peeking out from behind the Magizoologist, nose and cheek pressed into his purple coat.

"Hello there," she says, sticking out a well-manicured hand, to which Sunny puts out her own. There is no shyness there, even though apprehension flits across her brow. "Are you the little mermaid I've heard so much about?"

"Where?!" Cho jumps out of her seat, practically beaming when she spots the other child, who sweats nervously under all the scrutiny. No one ever paid her much mind under the ocean, except for all the bad reasons.

"My name is Cho. What's yours? Where's your tail? Do you sing?"

The girl shakes her head and points to her mouth, where a great, mutilated rift appears in the place of a tongue. Cho frowns, not in disgust but rather a mixture of worry and disappointment.

"An unfortunate incident with dark magic," Newt explains. "Kingsley found her stranded in East Sussex half-dead, most likely exiled from a clan closer to Taiwan. Though there is still much to learn about her condition, for the most part Sunny has made a miraculous recovery and communicates very well in the written word."

"I see that." A soft look dawns upon the mother's fair face at the notebook in Sunny's pocket, so she reaches out again to pry the girl gently away from her hiding spot, running her fingers through long brown hair. It is a comforting gesture, and the girl preens at the attention. "What a strong girl you've been, Sunny. Cho-Cho, why don't the two of you play outside while the grown-ups talk?"

"I thought you'd never ask!" the child replies. Determined to restart, she holds out a calloused hand to Sunny, who automatically fits her smaller palm into it. "Do you like Quidditch? My favorite team is the Tutshill Tornados. They're the best English team, I won't let you say otherwise. Er, I mean write."

In wonderment and slight bewilderment, the mermaid follows the older girl out, scribbling down a "what is Quidditch?" once in the courtyard, by which Cho launches into a passionate explanation. The adults take a moment to watch their sweet interaction, before Lisa breaks the comfortable silence.

"Has there been no word on the relatives?"

"Last week, we finally pieced together the bigger picture," Kingsley says. "A witch or wizard fits into the picture somewhere, but her siren mother hasn't been sighted yet. We had a specialist follow Sunny's descriptions, but there are just no signs of her anywhere. I'm afraid to look through the morgues."

"Have faith, dear Auror." The magizoologist claps his back. "She will turn up eventually. She's clearly raised a daughter with so much love."

"Let me know if I can be helpful in any way," Lisa says. "I love her already, boys. You came to the right single lady."

"I can help with the fees and paperwork. They don't do adoption like they used to."

"Thank you, old friend. You need a raise."

"You know, he has been footing the hospital bills from day one," Newt adds. "I just stay for the baked goods."

"Animal," Kingsley mumbles and gets zapped in the ribcage. "When can you bring her home?"

"I was actually thinking today!" Lisa claps her hands excitedly and pulls out a ticket. "Prepared in advance for one more passenger, and don't you dare tell me to return it."

The wizards exchange relieved looks and lead the merry way.

* * *

Separation anxiety has never set in faster than when Sunny parts from Nebula, her first friend on land. Kingsley is to deliver the foal to its original pack in the Forbidden Forest, but almost loses his hand again in the process. The siren steps in to communicate a truce, hands on either side of a sleek beak.

_We will meet again, I promise._

The next farewell turns out to be the most shocking. As soon as the mermaid exits the building after hugging her caretakers, Lisa does a double-take and nearly cracks her neck.

"O-oh my, where did all your hair go?" she splutters, as she wheels what little stuff Sunny has onto the platform: some books, a dress, comb, and jar of suspicious trinkets. "Wasn't I just brushing it?"

Cho giggles conspiratorially—because of course she volunteered as the hairdresser—and runs her fingers through the cropped look, as the younger girl pulls out a notebook and writes her response before the trio board the train.

'Someone needed it more than I did.'

The next week, when Augusta Longbottom brings her grandson to St. Mungo's, they are one step closer to the mother and hero they once knew; the wig is the perfect length and shade of brown.

* * *

The Chang Estate is out in the country, far from the hospital, far from the sea, a little ways away from the steelopolis called Motherwell. Steam, distinctive and thick, billows along the winding scenery as a whistle cries loud and true.

Sunny taps her blunt nails on the windowsill, remembering the last time she was on a train. Her older brother had passed away in military service, the funeral held in some family friend's mosque.

Girl and casket. Casket and noise. Noise and girl. She was ten years-old and threw a tantrum because Amir wasn't waking up; the body laid stock still in its bed of lilies, hands and cheeks sallow, as the rest of the world fell apart.

The ride there was unimpressionable, but the one back home made her think a lot about Future-Amir and his could-have-beens, should-have-beens. Mother used to talk about the great things he would achieve, like becoming a "civil engineer" and rebuilding the city. All she cared about was what the reputation would bring in though, so she never heard him late in the night, when he tucked his two sisters in and whispered what he told no other soul.

"I want to leave. Leave and find out who I really am. Maybe in America, or Switzerland, even the Philippines. Anywhere but here."

Her brother's only dream was simple; the road was not. He was shot down before he turned seventeen, buried by sunset in a place where grass refused to grow. For what he had fought so long, the young Suha had been uncertain, but reborn and out of her depth, Sunny now sees the burden. She will never be who she once was, and she surely isn't 100 percent on who she is now.

Someone clearing their throat rouses the girl from her reminiscence. Sunny looks to the doorway, expecting to see Cho and Lisa back from the "loo", when a small creature with bat-like ears the color of scallops enters, tugging along a basket full of packaged sweets. She leans forward in wonder at the odd arrival.

"Hello little missus," it squeaks. "Me name's Cubby. I have goodies for the missus from the other missus and madam. Oh! I shan't have said it!"

Immediately, a written response is in order.

'How do you do? I'm Sunny. You're very cute. What might you be?'

Its gold eyes impossibly widen. Trembling, the creature drops the basket with a  _hiccup!_  and vanishes on the spot, effectively scaring Sunny three feet out of her seat, expression the equivalent of an exclamation mark.

When the Changs return from their restroom trip, expecting to see a happy mermaid nibbling on Pumpkin Pasties, they find her staring hard at her notebook like a dissatisfied artist. Eventually, she looks between the two females and scribbles furiously.

'There was this little creature and it was offering me food… what just happened?!'

"You met Cubby? She's so sweet." Cho plops down next to her.

'Yes, but she just... disappeared! Vanished!'

"I'm so proud, you scared a house-elf."

'Who in the what now?'

"They're quite bad at taking compliments, poor Cubby."

As Sunny feels her brain scramble at the terminology, her new mother picks up the discarded basket and hands each girl a treat before ushering them out of the compartment, baggage already shrunken down to size in her coat pocket.

The moment they exit, magic has long been forgotten as the regular world falls back into place, like the dusty station of Sunny's memories. A mechanical voice reads aloud available resources and journeys to come. Passengers heave their luggage by the hand down the lanes and out the door, speaking of the weather or how good it feels to be back home, bumping rather often into the backs of carts or each other. The child watches on, wondering what would happen if any of them knew about dematerializing house-elves or confused mermaids, about the other side of the mirror.

Would they think the grass greener, or is there a catch to all the magic, an unspeakable consequence?

"Tsk, we still have to catch another ride," Lisa informs. In under a minute, she ushers their trio from one side of the station to the other and into an alleyway, where she taps on a couple of wrinkled bricks with her wand. Soon, the stones cave to reveal a cozy abode, the size of an average living room, speckled with jars full of herbs and roots. It smells distinctively of rubbing oil and something akin to peanut butter.

The Chinese woman makes a beeline to the single, person-high fireplace, one duckling following along as per routine, the other thoroughly miffed.

"Mopey-Moby, I know you're there. I'm borrowing the fireplace again."

Bespeckled and dark-skinned, a massive man elegantly slides in on a ladder, fingers tapping along his dusty bookshelf. He looks to be in his fifties, features simultaneously sharp and welcoming, mauve robes patched and burnt in places.

"This gonna be the last time you traipse in 'ere during my coffee break. Why didn't you just use the Floo in London?"

"Can't a mother take her kids on a train ride anymore?"

"Another one? You've been busy."

"You make me sound like a tramp one more time, and you're going to wish you had one to comfort you." Lisa unscrews a bottle of dust, glimmering ominously in the light. She hands some to Cho, who excitedly volunteers herself into the empty fireplace. "All right, like we practiced. Show your sister how it's done."

Like sand trickling down an hourglass, the powder pours across Cho's feet; as soon as it makes contact and emerald flames burst past the columns, she yells "Chang Estate," consumed not long after by the fires. Sunny reaches an arm out in alarm, only to have Lisa take her hand and sprinkle the same material into palm. The fine grains of green stardust have a warmth of their own, working along her lifelines like ephemeral vines.

"Don't worry, Cho-Cho has done this before. I was fearful my first time, too. The Floo Network takes getting used to, but it's a common mode of wizarding transportation. You take these sparkles and just say—oh geez, I forget!"

Lisa turns to Moby, who has been eyeing Sunny for a good while. She blinks shyly back, inching closer to the mother in the room for comfort.

"Verbalization isn't doctrine, right? Would the Floo still work if she thinks of the destination hard enough?"

"I don't see why not, could close her eyes for good measure," he replies. "She a mute?"

"It's complicated. Go on honey, think 'Chang Estate.' The hardest you've ever thought before. If you wind up somewhere else, I'll find and apparate to you immediately."

She takes off a purple brooch from her breast and pins it to Sunny's blouse. "This will tell me where you go. Steady now."

The child wants to ask how anyone could transport via fireplace and how jewelry could possibly track someone, but Lisa's hand is warm and gentle; surely no one with a touch like that means her harm. So Sunny steps into the ashes, anxiously breathing through her nose as she gets a thumbs-up and throws the powder down.

There is no heat and all light; she envisions her new home, somewhere without Amir and Fatima and Murong, and teleports straight away, a physical pull straight through her bones. When she comes to, the fireplace is much smaller and cramped, squeezing her down into its crumbled, sooty deposits. She frantically coughs and spits out the muck, wiping her eyes with equally blackened sleeves.

Someone's firm grip pulls her from the darkness and into waiting arms; already, the apprehension spikes.

This is neither Cho nor Lisa.

Slowly, Sunny peers up at the stranger, glimpsing early-set wrinkles and scars upon a young face. His light brown hair, sparingly flecked gray, frames a kind smile and hazel eyes. A faint aroma of chocolate carries from his loose clothes; he can't be more than thirty, yet seems to have lived in hand-me-downs for his whole life.

If Sunny could describe him in one word, it would be "safe." The thought is uncomfortably curious and too trusting; all of a sudden, acting her physical age makes her feel vulnerable under his wise gaze.

She sees that they are both cuddled on the carpet of a bookstore, small and antiquated in its interior, dimly lit as though closed for the day.  _Wow_ , the mermaid mouths unconsciously. She'd never seen so many books before, not even in school; not that she went anywhere as fancy either.

The man rises to grab a sheet of paper and pencil from the counter, nearly hitting a low-hanging lamp on his way. She hides a laugh behind a hand; he seems so distant and refined, yet walks just as she had when adapting to land.

'Lost in the Floo?' he writes in a neat script. 'Where did you come from?'

Sunny straightens, taking control of the pencil. She is slightly jealous of his handwriting, putting in extra effort to deliver legibility.

'I came here with my new family, but Lisa explained too fast and I lost my train of thought. Where am I?'

'Kimberly's Kollektion.'

'Is this a bookstore? Are you the owner? What do you like to read most?'

'Yes, no, and adventure. My turn: what's your name? How old are you? Are you adopted?'

'Sunny! I think I'm… eight. Yes, that should be right. Does adopted mean having a new family? I lost my real mother a few months ago.'

Hesitantly, he pats her hand, as though any more pressure would break skin. What an odd fellow; she isn't used to being treated like porcelain.

'I'm sorry to hear that. My mother died eight years ago.'

'Are you like me?' She gestures to her mouth.

'No, I extracted an infected tooth and can't talk much. It's temporarily disarming.' He has this quirky, patient grin now. 'But isn't this more exciting? Like a secret language.'

'Oh, I never thought of it like that. That's quite true.'

A whip-like crack and sparks end their conversation. Lisa looks upon the scene frantically, wand raised high and relief inspiring tears.

"I thought I'd never find you!" she cries, scooping up the mermaid and crushing her to a warm bosom. A sense of amused calm washes over Sunny, like a sobering shower. "Next time we'll do it the old-fashioned way, no more bloody fireplaces—"

The witch notices the bookkeeper then and goes for an embarrassed handshake. "Pardon my intrusion, sir. Thank you for watching over my daughter, I'm sure we've interrupted your matters."

He takes her hand and nods, exchanging a mischievous glance with the siren.

"Not at all," he manages. "She was a delight."

"Now come along dear, let's leave the kind gentleman to his books. I have to get started on dinner, we're ten minutes late."

Before the two Apparate away—to which she'd almost vomited later—Sunny mouths over Lisa's shoulder, 'What's your name?'

The scar-faced chocolate man waves goodbye, whispering, "Remus. Remus Lupin."

Charming—she would certainly remember that name.

* * *

'Why is everything in the house blue and purple?'

"Because Quidditch," Cho explains.* Her cat-eye glasses make the words seem even more ridiculous, body hunched over a copy of  _The Quibbler_.

'What does that even mean?'

"Because Quidditch," Lisa calls from her office.

'How can she even  _hear_  me write?!'

"Because of the senses we train in Quiddit—"

'Stooop.'

* * *

Lisa finds herself consulting the grocery store clerks often in her endeavors as a mother.

"Fish eat other fish, don't they?"

"Huh?"

"Fish are omnivorous, no?"

"Yes'm."

"So hypothetically speaking, mermaids would eat fish too?"

"I don't see why not. I imagine they use seafood to make up for meat. Protein and all that good jazz."

"Right right, so maybe seaweed equals vegetables?"

Arthur the part-timer nods but scratches his chin, wracking his brain for the last customer who asked him something this bizarre.

"But they're not real, so we can't know for sure."

She gets real close to him then and sizes the scrawny white boy up and down. "Anything's possible, son. One morning you'll find yourself spouseless, and the next you're adopting a siren. Life's funny like that."

He too leans in, eyes wide with interest. What is the end-game of this joke? "Lisa, is there something you're not telling me? I thought we were onto the next stage in this relationship."

"Some day, young grasshopper, when you're ready."

With that, the woman picks up her bags and walks off, Cho and Sunny waiting patiently by the newspaper stand. The former rolls her eyes when they exit the store, tucking the leeks and clams under her arm. Sunny has the fruits strapped to her back.

"You almost squealed, didn't you? No wait, you did!"

"Arthur's trustworthy. Besides, he won't be here for long. The tea leaves say there are greater things to come."

Sure enough, in the next week, the teen transfers to a pet store back in his home state of Maine, where he spends a great deal of time asking his new friends about the existence of mermaids—and by that, he means the guppies and angelfish and minnows. It takes Arthur Curry* a while to figure out that he's not crazy, and that he can make a superhero career out of understanding fish.

But Aquaman can wait; he's going to make some banging bucks down at the pier, training dolphins how to steal wallets. Those world domination plans aren't going to start themselves.

* * *

It takes a little over a month for the little mermaid to adjust to the Changs, particularly their inane schedule that operates primarily on chance, productivity, and competition. Living underwater halfway across the world effectively destroyed any measurement of time in Sunny's system, so having a set wake-up and clean-up becomes a part of her humanization.

Nah, who's she kidding? Whether person or mermaid or zombie, the girl can't shake off the zero fu— _cares_  she gives about time-management; Procrastinators Unite Tomorrow! This is 1989: the Berlin Wall is down, her crops are watered, her skin has cleared. Live a little, people.

8:30 A.M: Lisa and Cho get ready for the day. Omelette-making, omelette-tasting. The enchanted brooms are hard at work sweeping up eggshells and dust. Sunny sniffles and rolls over in bed.

9:15 A.M: Cho updates her Quidditch scoreboards and Lisa files a trade report. They see who can collect the most laundry around the house. Sunny mumbles about a talking watermelon.

10:00 A.M: Lisa leaves for work and Cho finishes a novel on wandlore. Sunny almost wakes up—almost.

11:27 A.M: Cho gets ready for lunch and counts down on an imaginary watch, before hearing her little sister amble down the stairs and squint away the sunshine. They watch as their mother's pre-bake spell works on the dessert.

12:10 P.M: They take the lunch outside and learn about each other; that is to say, about how Cho's a big ol' sports nerd and Sunny fears no animal, not even the wasp that goes straight for the sandwiches. The older girl promptly blacks out.

2:00 P.M: Sunny hates how Ms. Temple, their private tutor, makes her feel insufficient for being mute: you can't say a spell, you can't do the spell. Who came up with rules like that? What about all the other disabled or impaired witches in the world? Surely they were much better teachers, at the very least. Cho writes a "I'm a bully, pinch me" note and sticks it to the woman's bottom with superglue after lessons.

5:00 P.M: Cho breaks or crashes something: could be a brush, vase, shelf,  _broom into the tapestry wait nOT THE—_

6:13 P.M: Lisa comes home and cringes into the next dimension. She spends a good portion of income fixing the house.

7:00 P.M: Dinner in town. Nobody wants to do dishes, but they sure love to eat Thai. Like everyday, every single damn day. Seriously, doesn't pad thai ever get old? Eggrolls don't "spice things up," Cho. Does the world get better when you lie to yourself?

8:45 P.M: Some kind of family activity, usually involving Lisa and Cho competing for top Quidditch fan-holler. Sunny takes a nap on the carpet to the sounds of happiness.

9:30 P.M: Since the one shower is busted, the women fight tooth and nail to get to the other bathroom first. Sunny's satisfied with washing her hair in the sink.

10:00 P.M: Everyone except the little mermaid is fast asleep. She misses Murong, because no one and nothing will ever replace who she'd been to the child. More than anything, when she thinks about the ocean, she misses their time together and her own voice, how much easier it would be to tell her story if only she could sing.  _Did the lovers reunite at last_ , she thinks.  _God, Allah, someone up there, please tell me I didn't become this way for nothing._

3:18 A.M: Sunny passes out from exhaustion. Cho wakes up to tuck her in again. Years later, they still share the bed; in fact, sometimes Lisa comes in too, because why not.

* * *

Month three of living with her new family, and Sunny dreams of a place she used to know.

But is it really her, or  _her_?

The visions vary, from a brown room to a pink shore to a golden field; the same young woman appears and works her magic, sporting platinum locks and a curious lilt to her voice, as though always about ready to cast a spell. At first, night will begin on the backs of her heels, clicking across planks like a winding music box, pale hands picking out an assortment of jarred goods for the next project.

Then they—Sunny and the gossamer lady—feel a tingling in their left ear and pass into the next scene running, where someone else is submerged halfway in sparkling waters, eyes alight with mischief. This person has never looked so happy and youthful, hair tucked across her shoulders in braided rivulets of chocolate.

"You're late!" her strong accent teases.

"You're early!" comes the reply.

Sharp, webbed hands reach around a slender neck and foreheads sweetly meet. They stay like this for who knows how long, humming and swaying in the dying day.

Their routine, Sunny thinks; their could-have-been, she understands. The hollow  _thunk-thunk-thunk_  of her heart clattering down her ribs and into the pit of her stomach can only be described as loss.

_Who are they? Why are they so happy?_

And it ends like that, salt water and sand washing out the image into the blue moonlight. The mermaid opens her eyes and finds the space next to her dented and empty. She shakes the covers off and searches for the missing person, only to see a slight figure leaning against the balcony railings, humming to some indistinguishable tune.

Sunny slips into the fresh air and hugs the girl around the waist, face pressed into the side of a dark head. They are almost the same height, equally comfortable, and she feels the reverberation of laughter through her cheek.

 _What are you thinking?_  her protective gesture conveys.

"The moon wanted to talk." Cho works around the embrace and boops her nose. She's gotten into the habit of doing this to Sunny, because Lisa doesn't appreciate fingers anywhere near her nostrils.

Sensing another question in their midst, the nine year-old continues quietly. "I tell her everything about my day, because she must be lonely up there. She's big and round and doesn't fit in with the stars. Who does she talk to when the sun sets? She doesn't even have a shadow, because sometimes she  _becomes_  one to renew herself. I wish I could do that."

Silence.

"Do you ever miss your real mum?"

 _Every day_. Sunny would say, but she stays still, feeling Cho's voice vibrate in the cold air. This isn't about the mermaid right now.

"I miss my dad sometimes. Ever since he left, I lost someone to talk to. My world got smaller. Reading makes me happy, Quidditch makes me happier, but when no one is looking, sometimes they mean nothing to me. I tear up the papers or fold them up for the fire. Mum tries, she does, but I don't think she likes the idea of us on broomsticks, even though I want to play in the big leagues someday. I'm not the only person who'll get hurt out there. I dunno, I guess dad just wouldn't be like that. He supported me."

Sunny rocks Cho through the rambling in time to their breaths, fanned out across their chilling skin like the wings of sparrows buffed against yew boughs. This is her first time hearing anything clearly about Wesley Lin, the mysterious medicine man that stole the heart of Madam Chang. Until now, he's been a blot in the family tree, his face missing from pictures and portraits around the house like an unrelenting stain. To the developing child, though, legal separation must have been unwillingly taken to heart but not mind, a formula for disaster that has never been solved, left empty-handed and frozen.

Humans, after all, mature with damage and not years.

"I wish you'd been here earlier," the Chinese girl says suddenly. She sounds close to crying, but she is more Lisa than anything, dark eyes flashing with flickering strength. "I wish you'd met dad. I wish you'd tell me I'm right. That he's not a bad guy. Mummy made a mistake. She must have."

The girls are facing each other now, hugging so closely that there is no space for bad thoughts to interrupt; silent comfort, like a river leading the wayward traveler home.

 _I'm here now_.

* * *

Distractions. Many distractions, to keep her from dabbling in the cosmic pain of loss. She feels the smiles grow claws into her skin; they have overstayed their visit and left the door open for new troubles to crawl in, like the voices that manifest from her greatest doubt, every version of her in the book.

 _I thought I was happy here_ , the Sunny side thinks.  _I thought I was starting to love them._

 _You are! Everyone has bad days_ , "Sungjin" echoes.  _Don't lose faith now._

 _Yeah, maybe it's the dress_ , "Suha" muses.  _Ask for pants next time, they make you feel better._

_But I'm a girl! That's what we're supposed to wear!_

_By whose volition?_

_Murong never made you feel like you had to wear anything!_

_Murong still saw me as a girl!_

_Murong isn't here anymore. Don't make me miss someone I can't have._ *

_Stop pretending to be your mother._

_We don't have one. Did we ever?_

Sunny pulls at her short brown hair angrily, willing the mental battle to end. It's just a blasted garden party, why does she have to make such a big deal about it? Really, hearing things now too? For how long would her silence go and drive her mad?

_What are you, a bloody eight year-old? Oh, right. You're supposed to be._

In the shade of the greenery, with sunlight filtering through the spruces, Sunny hides a little, hides a lot near the estate pond, an old lazy moor reflecting both mud and clouds on its surface. Had she requested for dress pants, she certainly would feel better about crawling around, but in her yellow sundress, worthy of church-going, she weaves uneasily by the reeds.

The road wanders up the frothy waterbed, past wheat and corn, up until the white tables on the veranda, where Lisa entertains two visiting families, the MacDougals and the Patils. They come every so often for business matters, and now for the first time, they bring the kiddies along to break bread. The parents went to school together rather "amorously," as they kindly put it. None of the kids understood the undertones besides Sunny, who promptly turned red and had her health suddenly inquired after.

Speaking of children, none of them are in sight—

"Found her, found her! Pam, quick, the arm!"

"I got the leg! The leggg!"

"Don't break my sister, you goobers*!"

What in the name of all that is good and holy in the world…!

After the collision and struggle, four small bodies go tumbling into the water, hairs splitting and mouths spluttering. The mermaid is winded, obviously disgruntled from having her personal moment shattered—freshwater is also  _very_  itchy—but manages just fine in slithering to the shore.

The others, not so much. Padma and Parvati Patil are sinking like the Titanic, arms locked in an attempt to use double the girl-power. Cho is right behind, kicking like a frog and pushing the Indians toward safety. By the time they are all out of the pond, Sunny's clothes are partially dry and her displeasure has simmered to a mellow ember. She throws her mostly dry scarf to her sister, whose smile beams sheepishly into the afternoon.

"They helped me track you down," she says. "Mum wouldn't let me use their dog."

"He has a name, y'know." Padma throws a braid around her shoulder smartly.

"P. Diddy," Parvati finishes. "The P is for our family. Diddy's just sweet."

Somehow, somewhere, Sunny feels like she's heard the label before, but finds the bastardized version more lively. She draws her knees up to her chin and raises an entertained eyebrow to the twins.

"You shouldn't make such a sad face at a dinner party, Susie."

A pinkish index finger corrects: ' _Sunny_ , Padma. Don't worry, I'm only half as depressed as I look.'

"Saving the other half for your wedding?"

"Low blow," Cho interjects. "Not cute."

Were children always so good at spite? Ouchies.

'Where is Morag today? I didn't see her at the big people's table.'

Shame, really. Sunny truly wants to meet the little MacDougal; her mother and father are renowned astronomers, and she wonders if their daughter shows a legacy-interest in the stars.

"I think she's down with Lumpago?"

"No, it's like Ludega…"

'Lumbago*?'

"Nerrrd," the twins simultaneously hoot, skipping around in circles to dry off.

"At least us siblings read," Cho snorts. "Maybe that's just a Chang thing though, good athletically  _and_ academically. Can't beat us in those categories, sorry ladies."

"Well, uh." Parvati ponders her response, before impulsively pointing a pudgy finger. "At least we have stronger opinions!"

"Pfft, what is that supposed to mean?"

"We speak our minds, unlike… oh…"

The word "speak" hangs in the air tauntingly, miserably, unable to be taken back like excess toothpaste. It sticks to their mouths, heavy and uncomfortable, but Sunny nonchalantly breaks the silence.

'Not untrue, but when you say too much, you give yourself away. If this were a poker game, you'd lose it all.'

Sighs of relief fall under breaths; she starts a rally of bashful questions at the mention of cards, an easy escape recipe for the children to take.

"Do you know how to play?"

"Isn't that a muggle sport?"

"What are the rules? Show us!"

"We'll ask mummy and daddy if they have anything on hand!"

With that, the girls bolt away from the pond, looking back at the mermaid, equally stubborn and apologetic. Cho quietly sits next to Sunny on the ground, avoiding her curious stares. Her black hair is long, styled traditionally with pins, the pride of her heritage. She lets it loose and parts her fingers through it.

"I don't like them," she blurts. "I don't want them to come back. They made fun of you."

'You make fun of me too.'

"Of course,  _I_ can do that! I hate it when  _other_  people make fun of my mermaid."

The possessive pronoun makes Sunny bubbly inside. She falls right into the girl's lap then, peering up at a supreme pout, the one and only expression truly inherited generation after generation in Chang women: lips puckered to the left, nostrils extra wide, saltiness oozing out of pores.

'Attractive,' she teases and gets an aggressive nose-boop.

"They don't even know you. They don't even try!"

The mermaid rolls around, adjusting to write on the ground again. Her nails have an impossible amount of dirt under them.

'You know me. Lisa knows me. I don't need anybody else.'

Like Suha once comforted a younger sister, Sunny holds hands with her "older" sister on their way back to the house, drawing small circles into golden skin with her thumb. They trek up the steps in varied shades of green and brown, dress shoes sadly discarded back at the pond.

The Patil twins have occupied themselves with cake, poker ideas and thoughtless remarks long forgotten. Their parents look rather sheepish for the overall mess, Lisa zoning in on her daughters with a hawk's eye.

"Sunny, I have decided that you're far too nice," Cho announces later. "The next time someone says anything rude about you, they better catch these hands."

Soundlessly, Sunny throws her head back and wheezes like a seal, committing the comment thoroughly to memory. The next day, when Cho is asked what she wants for her upcoming tenth birthday, she says a black belt in karate.

Nobody in the house stops laughing until she actually gets one…

… within a week. The instructor is ready to up and quit his twenty-year career.

Hustle, honey, hustle. The Changs are way ahead of the game, power moves and royal flushes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Demiguise: peaceful, ape-like herbivores with the ability to turn invisible when threatened
> 
> *Ever since she was six, Cho's been a fan of the Tutshill Tornados; their signature colors are sky-blue and navy-blue, sometimes interpreted as indigo/purple
> 
> *Arthur Curry: as stated, he's Aquaman (am I doing crossovers now HAHA)
> 
> *Murong says something similar in the first chapter
> 
> *goobers: peanuts
> 
> *Lumbago: a backache of the lumbar region or lower back, which can be caused by muscle strain or a slipped disc
> 
> Questions: What did you think of characters like Cho Chang, Remus Lupin, and the Patil twins?


	3. this love that won't (will) reach

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Spring semester is kicking my ass, but here's a chapter. Thank you for the feedback and support! I'm all the blush. Enjoy.
> 
> Key: thoughts/voices/sound effects, 'written speech'
> 
> Edit: 06/02/18

"It's tempting to want to live in the past. It's familiar. It's comfortable. But it's where fossils come from."

—Steve Rogers (Captain America),  _Man Out Of Time_

* * *

What a maddening thing attachment is: to want to be there for someone as much as possible, watch them fall asleep after hot cocoa, walk miles for them in beat-up shoes.

_Blip, blip, bloop._

The sudden heat wave sticks to skin and bone, pounding down on the earth and scattering its citizens to the indoors; the children, to the arcades. Sunny melts for a good hour against the beeping machine's side, cheek imprinted by the warm plastic and metal coat as sweat dribbles down her violet turtleneck. Some people have given her strange looks for her foolish fashion choices, but she is much more occupied by Cho's quest for redemption.

"I have to beat your highscore," the girl breathlessly announces. Pacman moves across the screen, consuming all in his path by the command of her dancing fingers. "I can't believe you got it in one go, nobody just  _does_ that. Not even with magic!"

_So cute, she just pouted._

...

Weird—Sunny's become weird, attached even.

She used to think that the strangest part of living in their too blue house, by the too green countryside, with the too colorful life, was how invested the Changs were in the non-magical world, for a family with so many connections to the Ministry. Lisa kept very little wizard currency lying around, as no one felt the inherent urge to explore places like Diagon Alley over the supermarket—not that anyone bothered to give Sunny a tour "before her time" anyway.

The madam had her girls take from a "reward" jar of pounds when they completed books and assignments, fostering the incentive to work hard and play hard. The point system often led to family bonding in diners, arcades, and the occasional drive-in theater, thankfully taking time away from Quidditch or the London Stock Exchange, two activities that never failed to make Sunny cringe into the next dimension.

How Cho, as an upcoming eleven year-old, even developed a passion for economics in the first place still baffles Sunny, but to each their own. She and Lisa can count money all they want and leave the mermaid to her bugs and plants.

Back to Pacman Tuesday.

Cho slams her forehead onto the buttons and groans, losing for the seventeenth time in a row. She has spent nearly half of her allowance on vengeance, so Sunny pays for their mint chocolate chip cones, thin arm hooked through a firm one. The older girl has really taken a shine to athleticism, excelling at such a young age in both flying and martial arts; loud and proud to Sunny's still waters, the depths of which no one has yet to understand. If not for her alien body and its malfunction, maybe Sunny could hug the sky too; handling a broomstick doesn't look  _that_  hard, psh.

"One of these days, I'll have you all figured out; and when it happens, you owe me an ice cream shop."

What a tall order! Sunny smiles into her free sleeve, as though conveying "good luck with that, I'm the toughest nut to crack."

But Cho doesn't leave anyone alone until she's had her way. Good times.

When they traverse across the lawn and arrive home, the door opens without prompting and Lisa emerges with a stamped envelope. They've never seen her so excited before.

"Sweetie, the letter has arrived at last! We've got to try that new buffet in town immediately!"

Hogwarts. Someone must've had a lot of fun with that name. Sunny wonders offhandedly if they recruit magical creatures, and then she wonders if there are others like her out there. Bad thoughts.

* * *

She decides that parents—mothers—are temporary in life, for they seem to conveniently disappear when daughter needs them most.

After a May shower, the skies are clear and cloudless in the garden. Another moment, a blue jay flies too close to the sun, drops in terror, and paints the world below red.

No one pays much attention to it, though. Certainly not the spring flowers. They push out from the brimming eaves of trees, glorious in their pastel purples. But little do they know that the spaces between their siblings and friends are far and wide, like marble columns without a pantheon.

Separated and lonely, the blossoms spend an uncomfortable season biding their sentence, envious of the clustering leaves and nesting insects, before ultimately falling from their mother. Some flutter along the wind and never come back; others take up the ground below, spread like ashes to feed the family roots. Only at the end of the line, may they be as close as possible and make up for lost time.

Whether anyone remembers the fallen flowers or not, spring will rise again, just as it always will, from compost and carcass.

Sunny buries the blue jay beneath the mossy bird bath, wiping pearls from her lashes. She witnessed the descent and impact, the feathers frayed and splayed in a crimson crown, an unwilling coronation.

_Like Icarus and the sun.*_

When the ceremony is over, she looks up into an iron-colored glass ornament, set like a star atop the bath, and sees her reflection: a wild beige child, neither feminine nor masculine, willowy and flat and soft in all the strangest parts. Her brown hair sticks out at curling angles, barely reaching her forehead and ears, and the cheeks of pink sand pull high and back.

Above all, she sees the dead. The flowers, the bird, her Afghani past: they are in her face, gaze, the scales lining the column of her throat down to her hips, speckled and growing in brass wonder. She doesn't have to hide them at home, but looking at them is always a new surprise nonetheless.

Sunny presses a hand to the bridge of a slim nose, feeling her old life there the most. Different, darker fingers used to run up and down similar bone in mild vanity, before poking at a smaller, rounder face.

"Suhaaa, I want your nose!" Little sister huffed and puffed. "Mine is so fat."

"Fatimaaa, I want your heart!" Big sister blew her away and lifts her into strong arms. "It's the perfect size."

Sunny has no luck with muscles now, and this too comes as a shock; she used to be the loudest, strongest person she knew. A film of sadness comes down on her eyes. She no longer knows a violent life of constant defense, but in her fists, she still remembers how the boys caved and ran; in her stomach, she recalls earning money for a food insecure household; in her feet, she knows all the sandy roads that led "home."

And in her heart, she keeps Murong, humming under her skin and singing into her veins, keeping the central organ beating and beating into oblivion.

Beating and beating and  _bleeding…_

The memories play like a premiere to a bad movie, the clattering of dishes a begrudging applause. Saturday dinner is spent playing with her noodles, chopsticks slipping in and out of the yellowtail soup. Earlier, Cho downed two bowls before rushing off to try her new broom polish. Their mother felt it mandatory to stock up, as every time the girl hopped onto a broom, she and the flying contraption came back worse for wear, like the fraying ends of a persian carpet.

"You barely touched your food," Lisa comments and sits. With makeup removed and bangs clipped back, the woman could honestly pass off as Cho's older sister. "Was it the ginger? I know you're not used to it, but it's good for you."

Sunny smiles and shakes her head; looking put-together deflects concern. But Lisa stares right through her, elegant eyebrows raised and mouth set into a firm  _hmm_.

"Perhaps you haven't adjusted to living with us," she finally says. It's a direct blow, like a car hitting the breaks, the driver propelled into the airbag. "Whenever you have that look on your face, it means you're forcing yourself and holding back."

Unraveling, the mermaid tries to deny it, but Lisa continues to pick apart the situation. Her eyes glitter in unfathomable understanding; Sunny can take a missing Murong but not an intuitive Lisa.

"I know there are stories you can't explain. Who knows what you'd really like to say, if only you could. I was hoping you would feel safe and comfortable quickly with us, but in contrast, you don't want to impose. I understand that, and I know I can't replace the family you had before, but I'm here to support you. It'll be the two of us once Cho-Cho leaves."

Sunny feels a kind hand pat her head, smoothing her hair out like the ocean to a pebble. She is carried along the current, unable to find her footing against such sweet words.

"You will always be a Chang to me. If you're unhappy in any way, don't keep it all inside and write out your concerns."

With that, Lisa lets her swim in those thoughts. A weight lifts; she isn't an outsider looking in.

 _Chang_ , Sunny thinks.  _Sungjin Chang_.

She thought no one had noticed, for they seemed so absent-minded and happy in a world full of the impossible. Even if she came clean about how jumping into adoption made her feel, how being mermaid and mud but human all at once made her question her existence, how Murong's mysterious lover had to do with this rebirth, she's sure that Lisa wouldn't abandon her now.

_Someday, I'll tell you. Wait for me._

Maybe it's because Sunny has known loss, or seen the blue jay plunge to its doom without warning, or the flowers lose themselves to the earth after waiting for life; or maybe she wants a mother to mean more than just absence, to give the idea of family another chance. The hand upon her head had felt like hope, after all. She may have lost her body over and over again, her heart mutilated and displaced, but kindness lasts forever.

And if that's the case, Sunny wants to change herself, so that this kindness will be reciprocated.

Take the warm hand and never let go.

* * *

_Kimberly's Kollektion_  emerges from the jade ashes, dim and caramel like the first time she'd been caught in those sad eyes. Webbed feet pad against the warm planks, twisting and spinning to bring their owner through the dusty land of books.

When opportunity finally waltzes through the door, a little past 1 A.M., Remus Lupin drops a load of books onto his foot.

"H-how did you…"

It takes him several seconds to feel the swear-worthy pain and another minute to respond to a hastily written question, presented in a sooty notebook.

'Do you hire children?'

"What?"

Sunny blinks modestly up at the middle-aged wizard, body tucked awkwardly under an old counter and face smudged endearingly: the runaway charm.

But she has yet to win. Despite looking more rag than man at times, Remus has an iron will and sends her home without blinking minutes later; he who barely flinches at a stubbed toe will take much more to convince.

So she comes back to him in the moonlight time and time again, each instance hidden in a different place. Shelf, desk, behind the tea rack, sometimes hugging him from behind and others sprinting another direction.

He has to wear down sooner or later, she's sure of it, but damn the way he wistfully sighs, as if an exasperated parent, and still apparates them away. How did he know her address anyway?

Not that she isn't a stalker herself. Somehow, the only place she can ever use the Floo properly with is this blasted bookstore.

Briefly, as Remus facepalms, Sunny wonders why he stays up so late. Certainly he isn't being paid for overtime, and there are only so many dust bunnies to chase. Where the hell is Kimberly anyway? Wasn't this their source of income?

"Why do you insist on working here?" At last the man asks.

'Why do you insist on me not?' she counters.

"You're ten. You shouldn't be so concerned with money."

Sunny rolls her eyes. Somehow, his stubbornness reminds her of Cho, but he's far quieter and faster at building barriers.

'It's not for me. I want to help around the house.'

Remus blinks back his surprise.

"Your mother is Lisa Chang."

He says this, like it explains everything. The mermaid blinks rapidly for the added what-are-you-saying effect.

"Department of International Magical Trading Standards Body, wrote an excellent thesis on a modified strain of wolfsbane…"

For someone who reinforces age gaps so quickly, Remus sure knows how to go on a wizkid tangent. If she wasn't actually a grandma at heart, this would not be as fun of a conversation.

Scribble scribble scribble.

'First of all, that's so cool. Lisa never talks about herself enough. Second of all, does her reputation transfer to me? Now look here, you chocolate-loving nerd, I am going to be a good daughter, whether you approve or not. I haven't done anything with my life yet.'

There is a beat of silence, enough time for Sunny to regret her decisions, before the bookkeeper laughs aloud. It's a rich, subdued sound, bubbling apple cider in a clay mug. He stands and pats down his vest, finally defeated by humor, and starts towards the mop, only stopping to look back when no one trails behind him.

"Well? Are you going to change the world with me or not? And by that, I mean make this floor shine."

Flushing excitedly, she scrambles to his side at once, never having been so enthused by the prospect of scrubbing wood as now. Later on, Remus will reflect on the last time a certain Hufflepuff called him a chocolate-loving nerd and somberly wonders how she's doing.

'So where is this Kimberly?'

"Nonexistent. My classmate Biff Harrington runs this store and is in Italy for the year with his wife."

_What sadistic hobgoblin names their kid Biff?_

Shelf. Sweep. Separate. Every two days, Sunny reports for duty and the odd couple works through the ungodly hours. The front windows go from gray blue to blue gray, night blue to the blue of day. The girl has developed quite the repertoire of sneakiness, managing to return to Cho's unconscious cuddle without stirring anyone awake.

There is a curious mix between non-magical fiction and wizarding books in the shop, the former finding a young audience to entertain, the latter of which sell out generally to older folks, particularly those conducting personal research. Thankfully, sirens don't have to deal with customers and are only on cleaning duty after they're all gone; in her eyes, Remus is superhuman for taking every single available shift.

But surely, no matter the pay, the length of work must affect his body. Increasingly, Sunny notices a shift in behavior and deep eye bags as the month moves along. Nothing about him is inherently rigid, but his figure often looks clawed and molded by illness, reminiscent of a time when Suha had had pneumonia and was kept under quarantine. She'd lost a great deal of weight and heart in the process of recovering, face constantly worn and torn at the seams.

In an effort to cheer him up from whatever invisibly ails him—for he certainly avoids being honest and upfront about his personal life—during their break, Sunny plops Remus down on the plush carpet, cracking open an unsellable edition of Beedle the Bard's fairytales. From the few weeks spent with the man, she noticed his penchant for teaching and narration, secretly wishing he'd replace Ms. Temple as a private tutor. That old woman needed to kick the bucket already.

And while Remus didn't quite like the sound of his own voice, she did. Sometimes, the mermaid even fell asleep to his endless thinking aloud, like the vibration of a lullaby. Slowly, they were becoming equals, and neither person knew what to do with this information, as they harbored different, unspeakable intentions.

But one thing's for sure: she may have a parental distrust, but she holds this old sport to a fatherly standard. His entire aesthetic is a bloody trap.

'I'm happy this writer doesn't write bad wolves.' Sunny gives the medieval illustration a good inspection. A male "Red Riding Hood" meets a werewolf in the forest and plays along with his facade, wishing to press forward on his knightly journey.

"There are no good wolves," Remus replies slowly, uncertainly.

'Nobody gives them a chance! People are ten times scarier, and I know wolves think so too. I read it somewhere.'

"I take it you're an animal lover?"

'Takes one to know one.' She confesses nonchalantly and hits herself mentally later. Not only did that sound wrong, it felt wrong. So far, Remus hasn't said anything about some of less human features (though he's probably either got her figured out or still silently guessing) but she isn't exactly in the business of advertising herself—especially the feet, making a note to wear socks more often, even when they cramp up her style.

Turning away and tossing the book to the side, the girl misses the man's thoughtful expression. Her head comes down on the floor, back pressed into the fabric and notebook blocking the lamplight.

'Remus, I don't really get the concept of calling people Muggle either. It's an uncomfortable stereotype, almost.'

"Some use Muggle in a derogatory manner, while others use it fondly. You seem to have given this a lot of thought."

Sunny hums and watches Remus reach into his shabby coat pocket. 'Muggle sounds like mugger or mug. So are non-magical people really bad, or are they considered cups? But then, don't cups have capacities? Is that a reflection of human potential?'

"Are you implying that my mother was a drinking container?"

'She was probably more like a flask. I mean, she had a cool person like you, so she had to be living on the edge.'

"You get a brownie point for that one. I'll be sure to look the other way if I ever catch you with fire whiskey."

'Do you drink?'

"... No comment."

'Okay, I've decided to use Muggle fondly. I'll just think of everyone as different containers.'

And so the distance closes and closes. They volley responses back and forth in a comfortable bubble, before he slides a tan box to her finally, about the size of a quart and wrapped in parchment. Sunny palms the prism and finds a loose slip to tear from; post-infiltration, a watery smile falls across her lips. A rose-gold quill winks inside a black case, long and decorated by silver beads at its point. She peers up at her employer like a subdued doe.

"With just a little magic exposure, it will write for you. Just until you figure something else out." Remus crosses his legs and reaches for another fairytale collection. "I will be going on a leave of absence for a couple of weeks and wanted to give this to you beforehand. Shall we read aga—"

He gets launched into the book pile within seconds.

* * *

Two weeks. He is discovered two weeks after running away from the wretched drive and living on the streets, in his tenth summer of existence, uncomfortably (and unfortunately) close to his birthday.

Not that he ever celebrated, really. This year, a homeless person gave him a box of chocolates snatched from a drugstore. He ate them until sirens grew ear-shatteringly nearer and the world spun out under his bare feet.

The policeman was nice about the send off. He held a big, gentle hand to the boy's back and guided him from the car and up the walk, where he'd surely never see the light of day again. But how could the man have known that? How could anyone know, when the monsters in that house had thrown on human skins and pearly smiles?

So, the child closes his green eyes, feeling rather than seeing the policeman drive away, and dives off the plank, bracing the impact of broken flesh and bone.

But the healing shower water after his beating is what really breaks him, sends him into a hysteria. That night, he drowns in his tears, surfacing only in his dreamscape, where he reaches out and takes a small hand…

… and never lets go.

* * *

Carried by a magical wind, a little blue crane flits by and lands in a bed of soft curls. It cleans the undersides of its wings, unbothered by the extra creases in its paper skin. Sunny plucks it off her head and blows it back to the artist, receiving another one soon after.

Padma sends her a sheepish smile from her table of origami, hands never pausing once at their station; between the twins, she is the better multitasker. At the Patil residency in Surrey County, the two girls are home alone; Cho and Parvati were out shopping with the adults, the former needing books and supplies for her upcoming school departure.

Unlike the Chang estate, this house sits on a neighborhood incline and looks rather normal, save for the most vivid murals of fruit Sunny has ever seen. Why, there's even a still life of durian; she never thought she'd see the spiky fruit again, given its lack of notoriety in Europe. She might just ask Remus if magical fruits are a thing… maybe someone wrote an essay on them… has a witch ever dabbled in genetics before…

"I'm sorry for what Pati said last time," Padma chimes. "You're actually really nice."

The mermaid returns to reality. Truth be told, the mermaid had already banished the comment from her memory but nods along anyway. She decides that perhaps siblings are meant to separately bond with people before reconvening. That way, their individuality rings true before anything else. Padma's level-headedness, for one, reveals itself now in the absence of her blunt sister.

Soon, she wanders to the couch, looking mildly interested in Sunny's book on lumpfish as she plops down.

"I'm kind of jealous that Cho is going to school," the Indian girl confesses. "I've never been to any school before. Have you?"

Sunny hesitates before shaking her head. It won't do her any good to remember the last night she had studied for a pre-calculus exam; she'd never prayed so hard in all her Islamic career.

Pulling out the special quill from her itchy long-sleeve, Sunny watches happily as it writes her response. Padma blinks in fascination at the revealing of the tool rather than the magic, never having seen another female store things in her shirt like that.

'Do you want to go to Hogwarts too?'

"Of course," she answers. "I want to learn how to do magic and start inventing things. I can only make origami right now, but one day, I want to transfigure glass and metals, even living things."

Sunny smiles and wonders what kind of face the other girl would sport if she knew of robots and engineering. Sadly, the wait will be another decade.

"Don't you want to get  _your_  letter?"

'I suppose,' comes the vague response. 'If that's where I must be.'

Padma almost looks personally affronted, but simply goes back to folding a dragon.

"You'll definitely be there," she says, "and we'll be in the same year! It's so exciting. Hopefully we get sorted into our parents' houses."

'Houses?' Sunny perks up. She thought it was supposed to just be a boarding school. Did each dorm have a code of arms or something?

"Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin."

'What's the difference?'

Padma sets down her feisty yellow dragon and moves onto a pink butterfly. She recites, as if from memory, "Gryffindors are brave at heart. Hufflepuffs are just and loyal. Ravenclaws are witty and learned. Slytherins are… cunning." A pause. "Mum and dad have never said good things about that one. They don't really like it."

'My family doesn't like a lot of things,' Sunny conveys. 'Doesn't mean I don't have to like them either.'

"But Pansy Parkinson's entire family has been Slytherins, and she's such a bully. That means mum and dad must be right to say it's bad. All the bullies must end up there."

Note to self, avoid this Pansy at all costs; if she could rile up the Patils, who knows what would happen to Sunny.

'I still think that they can't be all bad, if they go to a school as important as Hogwarts and contribute to the wizarding world.'

"That… makes sense." The girl nods. "All right then, I dare us to find a good Slytherin when we get to school!"

The mermaid grins from ear to ear, obviously delighted by their blossoming camaraderie.

'So what houses were our parents in?'

"My mummy was in Hufflepuff and daddy was in Ravenclaw. Madam Chang should've been in Ravenclaw too, she's too brilliant for the other ones."

'By chance, would you happen to know the team colors?'

"I do! Hufflepuff is yellow and black and Ravenclaw is blue and bronze."

Girl, did that explain the extra blueness of the Chang estate. Tutshill Tornados, her ass! Sunny might've been the one bronze thing in the house, at this point.

"I think you'll be a great witch," Padma suddenly says. "I feel it. You're always reading big books and asking big questions, and-and you don't let anyone stop you from being part of the conversation. I hope we can be in the same house together."

Silence. Just as the child feels her hands go clammy, as if she'd stepped out of line, her new friend leans over and loses her page. Sunny aims straight for the red square, slowly but sure folding it into a shape. Eventually, she puts it in Padma's front shirt pocket and walks off to the bathroom with a slight spring in her step, leaving the child gaping.

When the twins reunite later, eating out their snack pantry, Parvati asks what's so special about a paper heart.

"Oh, I don't know." Padma cups her grin in one hand and thumbs the origami with the other. "It just feels like a promise, doesn't it?"

Cue the eyeroll.

* * *

"Mum, why did you buy Sunny so much paper? Did Padma talk you into it? It's  _everywhere_! There's even some in my sock drawer."

"Because someone in the family has finally shown an interest in art. Now finish your green onions or I'm taking your broom away."

"Psst, Sunny…"

"AHEM."

* * *

Somehow, walking through brick walls never gets old. One minute, you're among the fumbling and bumbling working class, and the next, you're weaving through silk robes and owl feathers like there's no tomorrow. September, in all its sleepiness though, happens to be a particularly special month.

Today, Cho Chang embarks on her journey to witchhood, and she couldn't be more upset. Platform 9 ¾ gets bleaker and bleaker with the prospect of imminent separation. Is growing up supposed to be this way?

"Why can't Sunny come with me? It's not like she's that big anyway, I can hide her. There's supposed to be a lake too. She can swim all she wants."

"First of all, Cho-Cho," Lisa begins, "Sunny isn't a pet. Yes, she's kind of a fish, but she's a growing girl just like yourself. Second, she can't be in freshwater for too long. You know this."

"But who's going to protect her when I'm gone? No offense mum, but you're bollocks at hand-to-hand combat."

"Now just who taught you that wor—" Immediately, Lisa wheels on their local siren, who hides behind the luggage cart. As soon as the girl catches the witch's hard stare, her blood runs cold and she whistles off the chill.

"Fine. If you won't let me take my mermaid, make sure she writes to me," Cho declares. "Like every second."

"No."

"Minute."

"No."

"Hour—"

"I did  _not_  raise you to make such sloppy calculations!" Lisa huffs, crossing her arms. "We make it a letter every few days or a Howler every other."

"You drive a hard bargain." The girl clicks her tongue, but sticks out her hand anyway. "No more, no less."

"Agreed." They shake and hug all around.

Somewhere off to the side, Sunny wonders if she'll ever have a say in any of the "deals" the Changs sign with the spirits. As she waves off her sister, who dramatically sticks her head out the window and strikes a pose, she also wonders how weird the other kids their age are going to be when she meets them.

 _Someone's gotta be more like me_ , Sunny muses.  _Please k_ _eep me afloat, unknown lover._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Icarus and the sun: Greek mythology reference
> 
> Questions: Who could the boy be? What house do you think Sunny should be in and (maybe) why?


	4. two are better than one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry for the delay! I've been sitting on this chapter for a while (the next one is gonna be a doozy too). I made this chapter longer than usual; let me know if you guys appreciate the length or prefer shorter ones.
> 
> On another note, as someone has pointed out, I have taken liberties with Cho's "real" name, putting to use the common Chinese translation, Qiū Zhāng, in response to JKR's poor attempt at an East Asian name. I briefly touched on this in chapter one. "Cho Chang" will still be the pronunciation used mostly in narration, as well as by most of our main cast, but don't be surprised to see "Qiu" here and there. Enjoy!
> 
> Key: thoughts/sound effects/letters in beginning, 'written speech'
> 
> Warning: implied child abuse (inspired by the Korean series Mother, highly recommended)

"Sometimes the truth isn't good enough, sometimes people deserve more. Sometimes people deserve to have their faith rewarded."

—Bruce Wayne (Batman),  _The Dark Knight_

* * *

_6 September 1990_

_Charming Cho-Cho,_

_Congratulations on Ravenclaw... and detention! I can't believe—wait, scratch that. I can completely_   _imagine you arguing with a bird statue, but about stocks? Really? How is a magical gatekeeper supposed to know anything about the British economy? I'm surprised you weren't locked out of the tower longer. Remind me to order a book of riddles for you come Christmas time._

_Have you made any friends? You mentioned Marietta and Pepper, are they nice girls? If you don't start remembering their family names, mum will have a fit about propriety. She threatens to send a Howler, please spare us all._

_Love you to the moon and back,_

_Sungjin_

—+—+—

_19 October 1990_

_Sunny Sun Sun,_

_You need to stop sending origami, there's a pile under my bed now. I'll probably release them into the common room for Halloween. What else am I supposed to do with a thousand cranes?_

_Charms is my favorite class. Professor Flitwick says I have a future in it, he liked my twist on Spongify: I made a plank elastic instead of rubbery. Marietta copied me after the first try, but the wood bounced and hit Adrian Pucey right in the face. It was brilliant. Soon, everyone was hitting everyone. Five points for chaos!_

_I think you'll love Marietta. She's not into Quidditch, but she likes to watch movies and paints really well. We can't talk openly about Muggle activities though. Some of our classmates are downright nasty about it, so mum's the word. Oh, that reminds me! We should ask mum to invite her over for summer._

_I miss the arcade. Our first stop when I come back during break. I still need to beat your highscore. You should bring the twins there some time, I bet their eyes will pop out at the wonders of Donkey Kong._

_You brighten my day,_

_Qiū_

—+—+—

_28 November 1990_

_Dearest Qiū,_

_No, we will not be putting Tuttle up for adoption just because he was a day late. Give the owl a break! He still got the letter to me perfectly well._

_Mum's hit a tight spot with finances this month, so I'm thinking of selling my tears. There's always a jewelry vendor out for pearls, right? I haven't done enough research. Let me know what you think. Maybe ask your potions professor?_

_Also, just between the two of us, I have a job. Remember the bookstore between Wellberg and Orwell? Sorry I never said anything. I worry about my boss, he's a really good friend to me but avoids humanity like a kicked puppy._

_How is Quidditch coming along? Are you the Seek-person yet?_

_Love,_

_Sungjin_

—+—+—

_29 November 1990_

_To my favourite person,_

_First: I forgive you for sneaking out at night and taking care of books and kicked puppies. That's my little sister. I bet you'll be in Hufflepuff. You radiate kindness._

_Second: Seeker! It's Seek-er!_

_Madam Hooch won't even let me try out. She insists that first-years don't know the first thing about sportsmanship, but how is that true? Do people suddenly grow up at 12? I've been flying my entire life! What do these boys know that I don't?_

_Rubbish, I say! Rubeeeesh. Maybe I should recruit the Weasley twins. They grab attention like nobody's business._

_I'm absolutely terrified of Professor Snape, but for you, I'll ask him first thing tomorrow if mermaid tears have a practical use. Hold off on the sales._

_Best,_

_Qiū_

—+—+—

_13 December 1990,_

_HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE LOVE OF MY LIFE! Homebound in three days._

_Qiū_

—+—+—

_14 December 1990,_

_YOU'RE FINALLY COMING BACK YES PLEASE HURRY IT UP I MISS YOU SO MUCH! That is all._

_Sungjin_

* * *

Remus Lupin sleeps…  _a lot_.

Perhaps most of his life. On moving staircases, in buses and trains, through the darkest years of his life, when he no longer felt it necessary to be involved in the wizarding world, living in a rundown cabin between Yorkshire and a quiet death. Such is the existence of constant transformation, pretending that disappearing on a monthly basis is normal and that he isn't a self-loathing individual but a high-functioning adult.

He'd gotten used to waking up alone, too, until recently. It used to be a certain redhead and their group of misfits poking, prodding, and pulling blankets over his shoulders. Now...

As he blinks back the dreams and rises from the desk, the cloth slides off his body in green ripples and he startles, searching for his assistant. She has a textbook of potions ingredients propped on her knees, face hidden behind the literary menace.

Without returning the curious stare of her werewolf companion, Sunny waves overhead in his direction.

 _Rise and shine, you lazy bum_ , she seems to greet. He can envision the cheeky smile and smells the coffee she's set out for him on the counter, along with the usual drawing of some flower or beetle, her newest backyard discovery.

"Good morning." Remus takes a swig. The delicate ratio meets perfectly with a hint of hazelnut. Perhaps he should be more present in life, but waking to this comfortable sight isn't a bad deal either. "I see you're full of beans today. Which section have you started on?"

* * *

The coffee mug shatters, the pieces scattering in a rain of porcelain hazard. Everyone in the room is more or less used to the spontaneous combustion; all but the source, the girl compelling the accidental magic. They are here in London for the bimonthly check-up, full of unfulfilled expectations and bitter realities.

"So there is no way to regrow the tongue?" Lisa asks. Her hand firmly entwines with the mermaid's and squeezes. Every visit, the same questions. "Attach a new one? Surely you have donors."

Maggie Sinclair, the head of the Children's Division at St. Mungo's, clicks her tongue. "We can't be spinning fairy tales, Madam Chang. Especially not in front of the patient."

The urgent sounds of bargaining between mother and healthcare provider are muffled to Sunny, who swings her legs back and forth on the bed, hospital gown barely hugging her at all in its cotton puffage. She watches the exchange in mild envy, for if this were her old life back in the desert, chasing a baby sister around street vendors by day and gambling at bars by night, no one would have any say in her fate except her.

She imagines, then, the voice that had been stolen from her: light and grainy, fine sand slipping between fingers. In the brightly lit room, she is submerged underwater, a feeling once welcomed but now an uncomfortable dissociation. The mermaid knew from the very beginning that her case was hopeless; even magic has its healing limits. But it never gets any easier.

"We have gone over this before, your daughter was harmed by an object laced with ancient magic," Sinclair explains. "Presumably dark in nature. There will be no coming back from that, physically-speaking. Her vocal cords were severed with the muscle."

"Then what about some kind of voice-box, as a substitution? You can't expect a child to use a quill forever."

"With an area so delicate as the larynx, there is far too much at risk. Our Healers have rarely dealt with this type of surgery and are thus inexperienced. One false move..."

She needn't elaborate further. Lisa looks as put-out as an abandoned billboard, tugging at her fraying collar. Her mother looks more nervous than Sunny feels; she is grateful that between the two of them, someone  _does_  feel.

"I suggest you prepare accommodations for the upcoming school year," Sinclair says. Her watchful gaze rises to the mermaid, who uncomfortably registers the pity. "Hogwarts has accepted worse conditions. Remember Madam Chang that when one door closes, another one opens."

"I wish that were half as comforting as it sounds," the woman replies. She perks up slightly when her youngest daughter motions for paper, pulling her quill out from seemingly nowhere. It begins to scribble as soon as it finds its medium, the owner thoughtful but content.

'What about nonverbal magic?' she relays. 'Cho mentioned it in one of our letters.'

"Students learn that in the final years." Lisa frowns deeply. "It's very difficult. You will fall behind by then."

'I can't learn it earlier?'

"You may," Sinclair interjects, "with the right guidance. There was a male patient years ago who received a Blasting Curse to the head and lost his hearing at the age of thirteen. But all was not lost. From what I know, it took a good tutor and immense concentration for him to have adapted to the disability. I believe our little mermaid to be just as capable of triumph."

The Healer stands and runs an affectionate hand through Sunny's hair. Her grandmotherly face crinkles up when the girl returns the touch. After helping Sunny redress, she leads mother and daughter out the room, thoughts scattered and hearts beating with something akin to hope.

An astonished presence makes itself known then.

"Alice! You shouldn't be out now," Sinclair calls. Sunny swivels around, face alight with pure delight at the sight of her old Longbottom friend. Lisa can barely get a word in before the mermaid throws herself at the lady in white, who seems to simultaneously recognize and squint at the child she subconsciously hugs back. Her hair is still the same wig donated two years back, an ultimate act of friendship.

It takes about an hour and a half to pry the two apart, and a tea session to close the hospital visit. Both Sinclair and Lisa find their stress thresholds passed long ago as they exchange farewells. The little mermaid waves vigorously at a retreating Alice, a new skip in her step.

On the way to the station, mother stops in her tracks and kneels down, eye to eye with child. The street around them is quiet and snowy, holding its foggy breath. They survey each other for a few moments, drinking in the clear differences but unconditional love under the winter sun, touching noses and foreheads. Lisa removes her purple scarf and winds it around Sunny's neck, pulling her closer by the ends of the wool.

"Will you run away with me?" Lisa asks, red lips turned like a bloomed carnation. She doesn't have to wait long for the small nod and returned smile.

And so they walk. They walk by uniform houses with checkered mailboxes and paved driveways. They walk by an old man feeding pigeons and a couple buying hot chocolate. They walk by a church with stained-glass windows and a sign asking, "What Don't You Understand?" They walk by a boy and his poodle, a frisbee and bag of snacks in toll.

They walk and walk until their shivering bodies reach the shoreline, until the burdens in their boots are replaced with salt and sediment. The mother watches as Sunny wades into the water without rolling her pant legs and disappears under the waves.

She doesn't resurface for a long while, Lisa feeling an acute distress in her collarbone, like someone is flicking at her bone from inside. Surely a child of water wouldn't drown? What if—

But soon, the mermaid gloriously bursts through the blue sheen. The sea water rolls off her cropped hair and down the sides of her face, to the gills peeking out and the fins slowly protruding from her arms. She excitedly runs to her mother with a pink seashell in hand; the chipped husk gives off starlight of its own. Lisa stares in awe, happy tears in her eyes, as Sunny glows with the same warmth, a future in the world of magic spreading out before them.

'I have a person in mind for tutoring and it's not Ms. Temple,' Sunny writes in the sand. Her mother looks mildly miffed at the assertion, wondering how there could be someone in her daughter's life she knew nothing of, but when a small palm slides against hers, fingers sitting perfectly in the gaps, she decides to believe in the little mermaid.

The pair lays in the dunes under a dying sun, until they both feel whole again.

When Cho asks them why they're eating Sunny's late-birthday cake half past midnight—"Did you two go somewhere without me? I just got back!"—mother and daughter give each other a sweet, conspiratory look. Lips locked. Key discarded.

* * *

January. The night descends, encapsulated like a deep black box whose walls are lined with frosted lawns and trauma. Someone's ragged breath pounds its airy fists against the sidewalks and street lamps, a desperate man searching for the missing piece: the Boy Gone Rogue.

Things can't get any worse for Remus.  _Please._ First, his innumerable absences from the bookstore (Sunny must be long gone), then losing his other mailroom job (he hated paper-cuts anyway), and finally an emergency alert, free-handed by one Arabella Figg and conveyed to active magical parties in the county at midnight.

He's no longer on the force—no war to fight, no country to save, too busy making ends meet and visiting graves—but the note finds itself in his pocket and reads, simply:  _Harry Potter. Missing._

The migraine ticks its way through the werewolf's head, a bomb ready to sound off at the slightest provocation. At the recon point, just before 4 Privet Drive, he meets with two familiar faces that are equally red and distressed.

"How did we lose sight of him?!" Dedalus Diggle yells more than asks. His top hat shimmies to the outcry. "What do you have to say for yourself, Figgy?"

"I was attending to a customer," the squib indignantly says, "while  _you_  were traipsing around! I specifically asked you to keep an eye on Petunia. She has been acting odd lately… more irate."

"No one can foresee a woman's course."

"Can you foresee my foot in your—"

"Stop this nonsense," Remus interrupts. Mrs. Figg has been in the service of guardianship for years! What madness drove her to prioritize a pet sale over the Chosen One? And Diggle the Dingbat! Why was he buying an ice cream cone  _in the middle of winter_?

Not that he voices any of this; there would be no end to it.

"We have a child to find. I've sent for others, but they won't be arriving any time soon. What is the situation in the house?"

"Vernon is taking his evening tea," Mrs. Figg relays. "The son has night lessons. For the past four hours, Petunia has been circling around the living room. She took the young Potter out prior to this, but the boy never came back with her. A couple of days ago, there seemed to be some kind of fight..."

"I may or may not have forgotten to mention that she threw a bottle at his face," Diggle states, twiddling his thumbs. "He came into the flower shop to pick up potting soil and had this great ol' bruise on his cheek!"

The woman smacks her forehead in shame.

"A  _bottle_?" Remus stares, miffed. "Why on earth would his aunt do such a thing?"

"I reckon they don't like the lad very much. Probably the reason he's so thin! They give all the meat to their golden boy, Dudders I believe."

"It's not just the food," Arabella sniffs. "They put the poor child in a closet for all his life."

"No wonder he runs away so often."

But this is not a simple case of running away from home. If they speak the truth, then Harry is in danger.

"It can't be. I couldn't have been this uninformed," Remus mumbles to himself. His head snaps up at a new thought. "Has Dumbledore received word of this?"

The two watchers look between themselves nervously and nod.  _Don't kill the messengers_ , their sidelong expressions scream.

A mix of anger and confusion the werewolf can't endure suddenly springs into being, dizzying and incomprehensible. All this time, had the child of Lily and James Potter been left to his own devices, to brave beatings and negligence?  _Abuse_? It's nearly enough to send him into a frenzy, having been out of the loop of news for so long since his move from the magical world.

Someone had to answer for this; he wouldn't take this sitting down.

 _There must be some mistake_ , the voice of reason.  _Dumbledore would never allow this._

Seeing red, the wizard storms away from the pair with biting words.

"I am going alone. If either of you follow me, I will hex you into oblivion."

Not bothering to hear the fearful response, Remus stalks off, clutching a worn toy horse that belongs to the son of his friends, the one item of value Mrs. Figg retained during the course of her babysitting. Though the time of the full moon has passed, the man's sense of smell continues to feel its effects, heightened and on the prowl.

It carries him across Little Whinging door to door, from the bakery to the zoo, back through the public elementary school to the driveway all over again. All the places Harry has been in the last two weeks, soft touches here and there, a child marveling at his hometown.

About ready to tear his hair out as he scales the recycling center fence, avoiding the security cameras with a disillusionment charm, Remus determines his next course of Apparition until he catches wind of…  _blood_. Iron, faint but sharp, a falling embrace in the piles of plastic, metal, paper, and glass.

Night vision fully attuned, the werewolf scans the scene, digging through the structures and machines. Finally, with a mental image of a young James Potter in mind, he casts " _Revelio!_ " and watches in rising panic as one particular black trash bag unravels at the top. Slowly, he takes a step forward, wand poised, and when he looks hard enough, the containment seems to shake and breathe, in and out, in and out—

Remus scrambles forward, rough hands prying apart the material. There, in the midst of discarded soda pops and banana peels, he finds a painfully familiar pair of emerald eyes wearily peering up at him. The split lip, purple face, and bruised neck are the worst taunts.

Harry James Potter, a broken animal like himself, waiting for the wick to finally burn out.

So as not to scare the boy, the man pulls down the bag one inch at a time before dispelling the food and grime and repairing crooked, round glasses. Harry, though starved and sore and sick to his very soul, can't help the awe blooming across his face.

Then, a question more magical than what he just witnessed, compelled from good intention that took ages to finally come forth.

"Will you run away with me?" Remus asks, holding up the pony toy as a peace offering.

The Boy Who Lived, though nauseous and numb and not all there, smiles back at the stranger waving a stick around and faints into warm arms.

_He has scars too._

* * *

"You should make me a necklace," Cho mumbles sleepily, "with your tears."

She can feel Sunny's pointed stare even with her eyes closed and giggles into her shoulder.

"Come on, I almost convinced Madam Hooch to let me tryout. Biggest achievement of the year."

She feels the eye roll too, as well as the "maybe" hanging in the air, threading her fingers through the mermaid's still-wet pixie cut. Sunny plays with her hair in return, black snakes running along their pristine white pillows, digging wrinkles into the place of rest.

The two sisters, after months away from one another, spend every waking moment of winter break attesting to the other's existence. Morning picnics, dancing in the afternoon, pillow fights—all without a moment of lost contact, someone's hand always held or knees always bumping. Their love language, a gilded sunflower serenading the sky, sweet yellow meeting baby blue.

"Hogwarts is a funny place. Sometimes, I think the castle is alive, and there are so many off-limit areas, you almost wonder if students have died before. No safety precautions! Knowing you, you'd march up to the Headmaster or teachers and tell them off. Not Flitwick or Sprout though, they're really nice. Maybe McGonagall too, but she's a tough love sort of woman. Hard lines in her class, transfiguration is no joke. Oh! I forgot to mention this but Professor Snape said that if you… boil your tears long enough… the pearls can be made… into painkillers… liquid form..."

The classic  _zzz_  sound leaves her mouth after the ramble, breathing slow and warm against Sunny's shoulder; she talked herself silly, trying to make the best out of her last night home.

The little sister blinks back the sleep herself, tempted to join Cho in dreamland, but slowly slips from the bed, away from the warm waters of heaven and into the early dawn, throwing a curtain over their shared space.

From one fireplace to another, Sunny runs through the motions and emerges through the green sheen. The bookstore automatically alights, perpetually dusty but well-organized. She goes straight for the armchair, flinging herself into its maroon solace and pulling a nicely toasted paper from her coat.

_Dear Ms. Sungjin Chang_ _, we are pleased to inform that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry…_

The words become less and less real the more she reads them to herself, like the shrinking space between a snowflake and the ground. The last time Sunny attended school, she was answering questions on a college application, wondering how to bring her sister with her to the states if accepted and calculating the money needed for the debts. The children here are guaranteed these things, the privilege of an education, the safety net that would carry them to a promising career.

Their bodies, fixed like demigods, are built to withstand the passage of time, to fly over fields, to achieve the impossible. Sunny presses the paper to her chest, eyes fogging and mind reeling. What did they do to the ones that didn't function like that? The children that fell behind, couldn't speak, broke their bones and hearts before attending Hogwarts.

What if there  _weren't_  others like her? An inhuman un-mermaid, the disabled mud figurine to a sea of able-bodied clay sculptures.

 _Accepted_. Such an easy word to say. She too wants to accept the new life waiting for her a train ride away, another place to share with her beloved sister and hone the strange energy within their souls, but a river of ice runs through the girl, tangled into one strong current of doubt.

 _Will they love me_ , Sunny thinks,  _or laugh at me?_

The old her had turned to Islam in times of need, but now, if anything, she might've been a misotheist.*

In her final Pakistani years, Suha had lost interest in adhering to faith, having spent that adolescence more male than female for the whims of others. It was doubly shameful as a  _bacha posh_  to walk out into the streets and have people mock you from all sides: for being a woman, for also dressing up like a man, for feeding the hungry mouths in her household with dirty, dirty money.

Where had God been through all of that? Where had God been when her country was under fire, when the terrorists came and sent their bombs, when her brother had died in the front lines and her sorry excuse for a mother had abandoned her remaining children?

Where had God been when Sunny lost Murong? Would  _Allah_  be there for her come Hogwarts, come the bullies and the failures?

The wizarding world knew even less about divinity. Certainly, there must be wizards and witches who practice religion—some must even worship their careers, their  _pets_ , as people in the old world had—but in the Chang household, few days were reserved for holy activity. Lisa seemed to be a Christian one month and a Buddhist the next.

Cho, on the other hand, was… well,  _Cho_. She gave Christmas gifts and read tea leaves, sang her Bethlehem hymns and played an excellent erhu* during the veneration of ancestors; religious syncretism at its finest. The girl honestly prayed to Quidditch more than anything.

The mermaid closes her eyes, instinctively turning her body to the east.* She decides to try once more; everyone needs someone looking out for them.

In her mind's eye, she imagines the ascent of Nebula, her Thestral friend, whose wings beat a dark breadth of freedom so far out of human reach. But Sunny still reaches, starting with the one thought, and soon another and another follows, and still another, until she is lost in the songs and connections leading back to Allah, flying away from here. Hands clasped, her head bows, then reaches up to touch the stars, chandeliers of the angels. Over and over, her old faith washes her in nostalgia...

A distant clatter catches her attention, breaking the worship. The mermaid looks up to see Remus standing before the backroom doorway, face drawn between distress and happiness, keys clinking at his hip. In a heartbeat, Sunny rushes to his side, arms poised to smack him for having left her alone for so long. The action dies when she sees him favor his right foot, scarred hands shaking in the folds of his plaid coat.

_What in the world happened?_

The wizard picks up on her confusion and horror quickly. Soon, he begins to laugh—wheeze—and tap his good foot, head tilted up at the ceiling and fanning himself. The girl raises a brow at the incoming hysteria.

"I… think I'm going to faint," he announces. "I'll sit first. Yes. That's exactly what I'll do. Wait, no—"

He doesn't get any farther than that, falling to his knees and into Sunny, who tumbles down with him and absorbs the impact. This would be the opportune time to groan if she could, but instead, the girl rolls her favorite wizard onto his back like this is a normal occurrence; trying to recall the last time Lisa passed out after Cho almost broke their late grandfather's jade dragon.

Did they pour water on her, or was it a slap to the face? Hm...

As if in self-preservation, the man wakes up before Sunny deals her smarting blow, honey-brown eyes flying open and meeting the lopsided smile of his assistant.

 _Welcome back_ , she mouths, lightly pushing bangs from his temple. The touch grounds him in this mottled, nonsense world, and as much as his inner self warns him not to get any closer, he leans into the slight hand with the fervor of a parched traveler.

When had he found the shape of his loneliness the same as hers, an island of  _have_  in a sea of  _have-nots_? This week had really done a number on him.

"Were you a good girl in my absence?" Remus teases, sitting up. "I believe you missed a spot on the classics shelf."

'I refuse to hear this from the king of truancies.' She gets her hands on a parchment and shoves it at his silly grin. 'The shop's been closed for a month, but I still come often. Are you okay? Where have you been?'

And like that, the wizard's features slump with his shoulders, his back still like a beetle trapped in amber. Sunny edges closer, latching onto the reaction.

"I don't have the right words..."

'You don't have to. I will listen to whatever you have to share.'

After several minutes, Remus finds the explanation lodged in his throat. He pries it out like a splinter, pinching and tugging until the words spill across the floor, passing the healing of the wound to this child and her rippling calm.

"I am a rather sick man," he starts, beating around the bush. "My condition forces me to leave work at the most inopportune times. As a result, for a great deal of adulthood, I have been turned out of every employment imaginable, which is why this job has been a blessing. It won't be for another year until the owner returns and we both leave this place."

A bitter swallow. "Because of this ailment, I have run away from many things. Society, friends, myself. I ran away from a responsibility that returned after a decade of looking the other way."

'A visit from the past,' Sunny gathers. 'Was that responsibility the reason why you disappeared longer than usual?'

"Yes. I was called to resolve a disturbance, southeast of here."

'What kind of disturbance?'

"A domestic one." He turns to her and sees that she's taken one of his hands hostage in her lap, rubbing circles into his palm. If it weren't for the contentedness radiating from her entire being, proud of finally keeping him in one place, the man would've run twenty miles away trying to stop the hope blooming in his chest.

 _Don't be kind to me_ , he thinks.  _Don't let me in._

"Before you were born, there was a war raging in our world. A dark wizard by the name of Lord Voldemort launched a campaign against Muggles and Muggle-borns with the help of his followers, the Death Eaters, Giants, and… Werewolves. We lost many good people to the war, including three of my greatest friends. But their deaths were not in vain, for their infant son became the reason for Voldemort's downfall."

'A baby?' She questions it no further; anything is possible in this world. 'He must be famous!'

"Quite," Remus chuckles. "He's known as the Boy Who Lived."

As she revels in the corny title, something dawns on Sunny.

'He's the responsibility, isn't he?' she prods. 'The disturbance… was it about him?'

Merlin, it's getting harder to see through the guilt. "In order to keep him safe from retaliation, the boy was sent to his uncle and aunt in Little Whinging, but as of late, I learned that the Muggles were a threat themselves."

She feels a disgust like no other in the next words.

"I found him in a garbage bag, abandoned by his aunt in the middle of the night with bruises and cuts." A self-deprecating laugh leaves Remus, who begins to shake in grief. "When I carried him from that destitution, I was incensed by the negligence of the people with whom he lived and by those who merely watched on. But above all, I was angry with myself. I could've… I  _should've_  fought for custody at the very start. Kept myself in the loop, even if no one accepted my presence. I let this happen.'

'You didn't know,' Sunny asserts. The ink bleeds from how hard the quill presses into the parchment, reflecting its user. 'How could you have known?'

"But I—" The sounds of  _scritching_  overpower his voice; the mermaid leads the conversation now.

' _And_ there were things out of your hand! You haven't been in the best shape. You're clearly working more than three jobs at once, can't afford new clothes or good meals. Hardly fit to take care of someone else. Each time you come back, there are new scars on your face and hands, don't think I haven't noticed.'

Remus grows red in shame; she's been far too observant of him. He thought he'd had her distracted with all that book-sorting.

'But I'm not here to pry or judge you. My point is,' and Sunny takes both of his hands then, 'do you believe this child deserves a better home?'

"I do," the man automatically says. He pales significantly at the admission, a sense of isolation and despair weighing in. "Are you implying that I should care for him? I-I can't do that. I am a danger to him!"

_I am a danger to everyone._

'You think the people he's with right now aren't?'

"I am unwell and have no means to save this boy. Plus, he has living family!"

Suddenly, Sunny lets go of his fingers and stares straight ahead, studying the fireplace with what appears to be great intent and exhaling through her nose. She curls up and folds her legs, putting a canyon-like distance between them. Remus wrings his hands in unease, thinking of all the secrets and avoidance, of all the things he failed to convey, the words at the bottom of his heart that were left to die the day he first practiced magic and realized that there were few people left in this world who cared for the fate of a wolf.

And then he hears a familiar  _crick_ , followed by a piece of milk chocolate handed his way. The wizard takes it cautiously and bites, melting alongside the sparkling toffee bits.

'Is it good?' Sunny smiles, indulging in her own.

"It is."

'If you can eat chocolate, you're going to be fine.'

For a moment, Sunny sheds this small body and returns to her prime, when she was a sister and mother and breadwinner, lover and fighter altogether, a fire reanimated in her visage. He stares for what seems like years into mercurial eyes so unlike anything on land; they carry him to a place of rest.

'Where is he now?'

"With an old friend. He's a highly-skilled auror, but as of late, he's been in the loop of child services."

Sunny nods knowingly. 'The King.'

Remus tries not to let his shock show. "You know of him?"

'He is the reason I have a mother and sister. A home. If it's him, I know the two of you will be in good hands.'

"Sunny, there won't be two. I've made that perfectly clear."

'Don't overthink, Remus Lupin. God knows how often you get cold feet. If you saved the boy once, you can save him again.' The girl pats him on the back, fingers barely splayed against his broad shoulder. She grabs her quill in the same movement and composes independently, the letters cursive and tall, much like the writer herself.

'You owe your friends this much.'

The wizard's heart misses a beat; she's right. But how could this eleven year-old be so right?

"What are you?" he blurts, startling her. "How can someone be this concerned for strangers?"

And in that observation, Sunny wonders, as she did every day, how she can go on pretending to the people she loves, pretending that she really is eleven and not almost 30, that she isn't experiencing culture shock as a Middle-Easterner flitting between European and Asian worlds, that magic doesn't scare her, that she no longer misses her mermaid mother and living under the sea.

That dying was as simple as waking up and accepting the status quo, like she almost did last time. In the end, Sunny is out of shape from being molded by everything around her. At least, to Remus, she wants this not to be the case; after all, they must've been cut from the same cloth, both carrying invisible burdens and not giving into the self-loathing.

Survivors stick together.

'I'm your friend,' she finally writes. 'I'm your friend and I'm telling you that you're acting like an asshat.'

Remus splutters, more offended that she knows such language than having it used on him, the good sport.

'Anyone can have a child and call themselves a parent, but when you put the needs of that boy before your own, as you have in rescuing him—from a  _garbage bag_ , may I remind you—you become a real guardian. No disability detracts from that, and you better not let some legal system do that either. My man, it's like you  _want_  to be poor forever!'

"I most certainly do not!" he retorts, and in doing so lets the words of encouragement finally sink in. Did she just refer to him as "my man"? That gets a laugh out of him and he shakes his head.

'If you're done with your moping, I have an economic proposition for you.'

"What is it?"

The whites of her teeth flash impishly; if he weren't so keen on being gentlemanly, he'd remark that that was a shit-eating grin rivaling James Potter's.

'You're going to need money to raise a growing boy.'

"Mind you, I don't have him in custody yet."

' _When_  you do, seeing as you're so child-inclined, how about being my tutor?'

He has never said "yes" so quickly to anything in his life.

* * *

Lisa Chang can't bother to feel surprised anymore when her youngest brings home a man; it's honestly not even in her top ten betrayals, the first or second performed on broom by none other than Cho-Cho.

But they don't speak of  _that_  anymore.

"I take it you like children?" she simply asks, arms crossed over her bathrobe, wand poised to curl her hair.

"Yes. In fact, I'm hoping to adopt one very soon," Remus replies. "Your daughter is rather persuasive."

Oh, he's a keeper. Maybe too old for her baby, but a teacher he shall be; and a father, if she can help it. Working for the ministry doesn't come with its perks for nothing. Sunny tugs her back to reality, signaling at her friend's shabby clothes.

Right, where were her manners? Lisa tuts under her breath.

"Now, let's get you out of those rags! You've a nice face, what have you been doing to it all these years?"

 _Oh, she's a keeper_ , Remus thinks as he's handed five different suits of varying shades of blue and purple. Sunny salvages him a brown one and gives him a look that explains everything, all the horrors of Ravenclaw and Quidditch colors.

* * *

 _Pansy Parkinson is a real piece of work_ , the mermaid muses, ankle twisted and staring up at the ugliest chandelier in history. She didn't think there could ever even be such a thing as an ugly chandelier, but she didn't think she'd wind up on the floor either.

On this fine February day, they are gathered here at the Parkinson manor for the celebration of the daughter's birthday and Hogwarts acceptance. Pure-bloods from all around arrive to the reception, parents and children strategically divided in the house. Lisa brought her finest crabs to the banquet, much to the chagrin of Lady Parkinson, whose mild distaste of seafood spawns from a skin allergy and bad memories.

"The sooner she breaks out, the sooner we leave," Madam Chang tells her daughter before the banquet. "Then you can play with the twins and I can pop a wine bottle or two with their parents. That will be the real celebration."

Leave it to Lisa for an escape plan. Old Suha approves; new Sunny's too tired. Plus, she left her notebook and quill at home, thus forced to socialize without language.

Luckily, Padma happened to be an excellent translator. As the other children occupied themselves with Pansy's loud voice and assortment of toys, Parvati included in the crowd, the girls found themselves a nice couch to snooze on, holding hands the entire time. Of course, not even ten minutes into their sleep and the little hostess gets bored, apparently determined to miraculously unmute the mermaid through sheer willpower.

"You," she addressed, raising an elegant eyebrow. Her pristine bob bounced around a round, flat-featured face. "Are you not entertained?"

Sunny almost bursts her appendix holding back the laughter at the  _Gladiator_  reference, an epic movie that wouldn't come out for another decade. She settles for a shaky smile and wakes up Pam for the rest.

"Didn't we sing to you enough, Parkinson?" The twin rubbed her eyes, untangling herself from Sunny. "Bother someone else."

Indignant, the other girl yelled "Parvati!" and effectively materialized the other sibling, who looked equally amused and disgruntled from being pulled away from her dollhouse.

"Yes, your highness?"

"I'd like to have a word with Sun… Sungjin alone."

Aw, she made an effort to pronounce the full name!

"Aight, come hither Pam. The tables in this set are made of actual wood! We haveta get one from mum."

"Sorry Sunny," Padma whispered as she was dragged away. "I owe you seaweed crackers."

Face to face with an evil stepsister stereotype, the mermaid tried to keep a straight-laced but curious expression as her newest acquaintance fired away.

"You don't look like Madam Chang at all. Are you really a pure-blood?"

Shrug.

"What does that mean?"

 _Adopted_ , she mouthed, but Pansy was building a rhythm.

"Will you be attending Hogwarts?"

Nod.

"What did you get me for my birthday?"

Points at modular crane basket, somewhere in the distance, on a table with a hundred other gifts.

"Why don't you talk?"

Was this an interview or something? Sunny opened her mouth and stuck out her "tongue." Wrong move.

"Ew, put it away!" Pansy shrieked, backing up and stepping on a conveniently placed ball. She tripped and flew into the air, skirts and all, as her companion lurched forward to catch her.

At present, this is why Sunny makes a semi-permanent residence on the marble ground, waiting for help to arrive as Pansy hysterically redirects the blame and Parvati tries to calm her down.

 _I'm out_ , the mermaid mouths to Padma, who nods understandingly.

"I was out from the very start," she replies, joining her friend in making floor-angels.

* * *

"Welcome home," Kingsley whispers, staying in his seat by the bed. He looks upon the now well-groomed appearance of his friend Remus Lupin, who tousles his hair to retain some form of his old, beaten self. "He's sleeping better. Long day?"

"Dumbledore has been preoccupied with Nicolas Flamel this month," the werewolf says. "I've been on the receiving end of characters like Bones and Doge instead. Just what does Magical Law Enforcement have anything to do with this case?"

"Amelia just wants to make sense of the situation," Kingsley replies. "The more allies, the better. Madam Chang is vouching for you too."

"That's a relief. Harry no longer has his parents or godfather around. Even if there is a blood protection in that house, there must be something else that can be done."

"Do not fret. I've gone ahead and purchased this house, right next door. Even on the off-chance that you lose, you will still be able to keep an eye out for Harry."

"Ask for a raise next time. You've done us a great service. When is the official hearing?"

"Two weeks from now." Kingsley shakes his head and rises to clap Remus on the back. He retrieves a box from his cloak and hands it over, the wrapping paper shimmering like scales in the firelight. "I hear you're a tutor again. Your student wanted the boy to have this. Let me know if you need any other paperwork filed."

"I will not forget this, Kingsley. Safe travels."

The black wizard Apparates away in a light crack of sound as Remus walks over to the twin bed and sets his things down, eyes gone caramel with warmth. He lets his fingers glide over a soft cheek, pushing back the unruly black hair, so much like his father's, to reveal a lightning-bolt of a scar upon the forehead. The anxiety in his heart drifts away, replaced by a conviction like no other.

"Thank you for taking a chance on me. They won't hurt you again, I promise."

_I won't hurt you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *misotheist: god-hater
> 
> *erhu: two-stringed bowed instrument, commonly referred to as the Chinese violin or Chinese two-stringed fiddle
> 
> *praying to the east: very sloppy rendition of the direction of the five daily prayers in Islam
> 
> Question(s): Do you think Remus will be a good parent? Do you like Sunny's characterization so far?


End file.
